


tryin' to recapture a little of the glory

by gilligankane



Series: you can tell everybody this is your song [17]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: 80's Music, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mixtape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-03 23:12:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13351488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: "I guess it's true what they say. Everything changes after high school." Wynonna says.Nicole rolls her shoulders, letting the tension drain from them. She shrugs. "Some things do. Some things don't, though," she finishes quietly.





	1. we just sit around talkin' about old times

**Author's Note:**

> This week's Flashback Friday features Nicole being her best cop self, Good Dad Nedley, and the gang all together again.
> 
> Welcome to the Purgatory County Fair of September, 1994. Nicole is 23 and Waverly is 22.

**"Glory Days" Bruce Springsteen, 1984**  
Yeah, _just sitting back trying to recapture a little of the glory. Well time slips away and leaves you with nothing, mister, but boring stories of the glory days_.

Nicole turns down “Thunderstruck” as she turns onto Main Street, slowing her cruiser down enough so she can lean out the window and watch as two of the three Thompson boys, Billy and Bobby, hang the ‘PURGATORY COUNTY FAIR’ sign between two streetlights.

15-year-old Billy leans back a little, looking over his shoulder as Nicole pulls her cruiser to the curb. She grabs her hat, gets out, and pulls her hat down over her hair. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and leans against the side of her car.

“What do you think, Officer Haught?”

Nicole squints, looking back and forth between Billy’s streetlight and Bobby’s. “I think you need to go a little higher, Bobby.”

Bobby, across the street, nods. He stretches his arms, but up wobbles a little and quickly grabs for the light fixture.

Nicole jogs over to the base of the ladder he’s using, steadying it against the pole with two hands. “I got you, Bobby.”

“Thanks, Officer,” he says, stretching back up again. He shimmies the rope up another foot, tying a tight knot. He whistles and Billy lets his side go, starting back down his ladder and jumping the last few feet down to the sidewalk.

Nicole doesn’t let go of Bobby’s ladder until he’s halfway down, and then she hovers by the base until he’s got both feet on the ground. “You two need to make sure you have a spotter with you when you do this,” she tells them firmly.

Billy nods. “We know, ma’am. But Benji already has a real big assignment from his new history teacher and our mama made him stay after school to start on it.”

“Usually Benji climbs and I hold the ladder,” Bobby explains.

Nicole nods slowly. “Well, that’s a good idea, because a twelve-year-old shouldn’t be 25 feet up in the air like that without someone holding the ladder. Benji is old enough.”

Bobby scuffs the top of his Nike Sonic Flights against the sidewalk. “Oh, come on, Officer Haught. I bet you did that kind of stuff when you were 12, didn’t you?”

_ The only thing I did at 12 was fall in love _ , she thinks to herself. She doesn’t say that out loud, though. Not to the Thompson boys. Instead, she claps Billy on the shoulder, letting it linger there for a second while she looks up at the banner. “You did a good job. Banner looks nice and straight. It’ll be the first thing people see when they come into town for the Fair.”

“Are you going to enter the chili dog contest again?” Bobby asks, bouncing on the tips of his toes.

Nicole’s stomach immediately aches, and she gets a bad taste in her mouth. “No, I don’t think so.”

Bobby sighs. “You probably have to work, huh?”

Her radio comes to life, a static crackle from the inside of her cruiser. She gives Billy and Bobby a lopsided smile and pats Bobby on the top of the head, messing up his hair. “That’s my cue, boys. Good job on the sign.”

“Tell Ms. Earp I said hi,” Billy shouts just as Nicole grabs the door handle. She looks back over her shoulder, fighting a laugh when she sees the red of his cheeks. 

“Sure will,” she promises, sliding into the front seat. “Go for Haught,” she calls into her radio.

“About damn time,” Linda drawls back. “Got a 10-14 I need you to check out.”

Nicole straightens up at the mention of a potential prowler, putting her hat down on the passenger seat. She sighs as she drops it into a pile of Styx’s hair; Nedley is going to make her detail the whole thing if she forgets to clean it out again. “Location?”

Linda pauses for a moment. “The Dray residence.”

The Dray residence. Nicole groans and drops her head to her steering wheel. “Linda,” she says flatly. “Can’t you put the call in to animal control?”

Linda laughs, loud and staticy in her ear. “Honey, it’s Fair month. We  _ are _ animal control.”

Nicole wants to argue that back.  _ Technically, Kyle and Pete York are animal control,  _ she could say. But she knows that Mrs. Dray will chase them off with her 12-gauge; she doesn’t trust them since she caught them egging her house back when Nicole was in middle school. In fact, if anyone but Nicole shows up on her front door, Mrs. Dray will call and request someone else. She calls it her right, for teaching Randy Nedley his ABC’s back in kindergarten, when no one else would.

_ I don’t trust those boys Nedley saddled himself with _ , Mrs. Dray will tell Linda.  _ They’re always laughing at me because they think I’m imagining things _ .

“10-4,” Nicole finally breathes into her radio. She takes a minute to collect her breath, let REO Speedwagon’s “Runnin’ Blind” transition into Cheap Trick’s “Rearview Mirror Romance”, and then she turns the engine over and pulls off the curb. She drives by Shorty’s - his new garage-style doors wide open, kids crowding the machines - and The Patch. She drives by the drug store, and turns the corner when she hits the post office. 

Mrs. Dray lives a few neighborhoods over, and Nicole gets there before Robin Zander hits his last note. She picks her radio back up, calling for Linda. “10-23,” she mumbles. “I’ll let you know when I’m back in the car.”

“Oh, good,” Mrs. Dray says, sitting on her porch with her Winchester 9422 across her lap. “I thought they were sendin’ those York hooligans here.”

Nicole takes off her hat, holding it against her chest. “No, ma’am. Can’t afford to lose the whole animal control department to your straight shot.”

Mrs. Dray snorts. “I can’t hit an elephant standing still.”

“You really shouldn’t tell me that, ma’am,” Nicole points out. Sheewalks the length of the porch, leaning over the railing to look at the garbage cans against the side of the house. “Do you want to tell me what happened here, though?”

Mrs. Dray rocks forward in her chair, quiet for a moment. Nicole leans against the front railing, crossing one ankle over the other and putting her hat back on her head. If she listens hard enough, over the squeak of Mrs. Dray’s chair, she can just about hear the hustle and bustle of Main Street - the soft sound of cars breaking, the shrill ring of the games at Shorty’s. 

“I woke up from my afternoon nap,” Mrs. Dray starts. “I tried to stay awake, but that Betty Kennedy is about as appealin’ as a doorknob these days. You know,  _ Front Page Challenge _ used to be funny. Now it’s-”

“You woke up,” Nicole interrupts gently, knowing that Mrs. Dray can talk about her distaste for Betty Kennedy for an hour if Nicole lets her. “And then what?”

“Well then I heard my trash cans banging together, and when I got out here, it looked the way it does now.”

Nicole walks back across the porch, leaning over the rail. The tops of two of the cans are a few feet away from the house. The third can is tipped over, but the lid stayed on tight. There’s trash littering the driveway, trailing back towards the carport Nicole is sure is filled with bird’s nests, a few raccoons, and a feral cat or two.

“It was that communist Mr. Mortimer,” Mrs. Dray says, matter-of-fact.

Nicole stops writing. “Ma’am, I’m pretty sure Mr. Mortimer isn’t a communist. I think he voted for Mayor Hamilton.”

Mrs. Dray scoffs. “Even worse. August Hamilton is a-”

“I’m sure Mr. Mortimer wouldn’t think of doing anything to your garbage cans,” Nicole says kindly.

“Oh, I know you talked to him, alright,” Mrs. Dray says. “And I know you scared him off for a time, but he must be back, rooting through my trash.”

Nicole stifles a sigh, and instead, writes down what Mrs. Dray says. “Why do you think that, ma’am?”

“To get my credit information,” Mrs. Dray says firmly. “I’ve got a lot of money in that Purgatory Bank and Loan, you know. And I rip my mail up into shreds, but that Mr. Mortimer is smart enough to put it back together again.”

Nicole writes that down and then flips her notebook shut. “Well, I’ll be sure to check in with him, then.”

Mrs. Dray nods, her chair still moving back and forth. “Can I get you some lemonade?” she asks.

Nicole smiles. “No, ma’am. But it’s nice of you to offer.”

“Well, you’re the only one of Nedley’s with a brain,” Mrs. Dray mutters. She stands suddenly, the barrel of her Winchester swinging in Nicole’s direction.

Nicole ducks a little, inhaling sharply. The gun levels back at the floor as Mrs. Dray walks across her porch.

“I’ll call back in a few days,” Nicole promises, backing down the steps. She tips her hat as her feet hit the front walk. “I’ll let you know what I come up with.”

“I have your card,” Mrs. Dray calls. “Tell Randy I said hello, would you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nicole promises. She waits on the sidewalk for Mrs. Dray to get back inside her house before she continues the rest of the way to her cruiser, taking her hat off as she pulls at the driver’s door.

“Haught here,” she calls as she settles back into the front seat. “10-8.”

Linda is on the other end of the line instantly. “10-4, Haught. What was it this time?”

Nicole sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Looks like racoons again.”

Linda snorts. “What did you tell her?”

“I  _ wanted  _ to tell her to stop leaving the cover off of her garbage cans,” Nicole says. “But instead, I told her I’d talk to Mr. Mortimer again. We really do need to get Animal Control out here. Raccoons shouldn’t be out right now. It’s not even close to dark.”

Linda sighs. “If I send those York boys out, they’ll probably get Mrs. Dray stuck in a trap before they catch a raccoon.”

“If she doesn’t shoot them first.”

“Well, I’ll send them over tomorrow. They’re out on Rt. 81 right now, scraping some roadkill off the blacktop so we look like civilized folk for when all those tourists come for the Fair.”

Nicole snorts. “If only we could keep Carl Junger from throwing up during the chili dog contest, we’d actually pull it off.” She makes another note on her notepad -  _ assign extra patrol to Beech Street _ \- and tucks it into the front pocket of her shirt. 

“Haught.” Linda’s voice comes through again. “Sheriff wants you back at the station.”

Nicole checks the clock. She’s got an hour left on her shift - just enough time to get back to the station, talk to Nedley, file her report on the Dray disturbance, and take Styx for a walk before Waverly comes home. She smiles and pulls down her visor, her fingers trailing along the picture she has tucked beneath the elastic strap.

It’s a Polaroid she took this summer, of Waverly and Styx laying on a blanket at the town picnic, a few hours before the fireworks started and Nicole took Styx over to Gus’s. Waverly has one hand underneath her head, and the other buried in Styx’s fur. Styx is flopped over on his side, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. In the very corner, Wynonna managed to sneak a hand in, just to flip her off as she pressed the shutter button.

She puts her car into drive, pulling into Mrs. Dray’s driveway and turning around. She goes back down Main Street, passing people who wave as she drives by. She looks straight ahead when she passes Stephanie Jones’ brown 1977 Datsun 200SX pulling out of the drugstore parking lot. Billy and Bobby Thompson holler her name as she goes by them, sitting outside of Shaw’s Convenience. She gives a warning glare to Carl Junger, loitering outside of the Farm Boy near the giant chicken installation. Valdez waves from the window of The Patch as she clears a table. Perry, parked in front of the bank, runs around the front of his Mercedes to open the door for Chrissy. The late bus from Purgatory High School stops in front of Shorty’s, letting Benji Thompson off as his brothers rush him.

Nicole turns up “Carry On Wayward Son” and grins at her reflection in the rearview mirror.

She’s staying  _ home _ .

Waverly is done with college and they live together in their small apartment above The Patch with their dog, and they’re not leaving Purgatory. Waverly is going to be principal, someday, if she wants to, and Nicole is going to be Sheriff - she  _ definitely _ wants that - and they’re  _ not _ leaving Purgatory.

Sometimes at night, she lies awake in their too-small bed and stares at the ceiling, wondering if Waverly regrets it yet; if she has the same feeling Wynonna has, the same one their mom had, to get out and go. She wonders if Waverly feels like her dad, trapped in the town that never changes, just dying to get away and start over.

Waverly looks at her sometimes like she knows; like she can see the fear in Nicole’s eyes.  Late at night, when neither of them can sleep, she’ll roll over and tuck a hand under her head, pushing back the curtain of Nicole’s hair with the other, and talk about something that happened at school, or at The Patch where she’s picking up extra shifts while they save for a better apartment. She’ll tell Nicole about her worst and best students, and how she’s so excited, already, to see them grow and graduate and get out into the world on their own. She’ll tell Nicole about appreciating Cecil Wright, Jr. now; how they don’t make jerks quite like him out in the city. She’ll tell Nicole she can’t wait to drive out to Moose Lake, and how they’ll have to bring something back for Gus. She’ll tell Nicole about their future, and how she wants to decorate their kitchen and have Wynonna and Doc and the rest of their friends over at least once a week.

She talks like she’s staying forever, and Nicole listens to Waverly breathe; to Styx dream about something he’s chasing; to Diaz making his nightly round; to the hum of the neon in the dining room below them, and she prays Waverly never changes her mind. 

Nicole pulls into the station parking lot, parking her cruiser in her spot. She rubs at a spot on the dashboard, remembers the clump of Styx’s hair in passenger seat, and grabs that, letting it fall from her hand as she gets out of the cruiser. She locks the door behind her, pocketing her keys. 

Across the parking lot, her Bonneville gleams. She’ll need to take it down to Bustillos for its annual checkover in the next few weeks, but it still looks as good as the first day Nicole saw it on that front lawn with a ‘For Sale’ sign in the windshield. The sun catches the hood, and for a second, she feels seventeen, standing in the McCreadys’ driveway while she waits for Wynonna and Waverly to come outside and see what all of her horn-honking is about. 

“That was fast,” Linda says, looking up from the files she’s organizing. “He’s expecting you.”

Nicole nods and stops at her desk first, dropping her keys into her desk drawer. She straightens the picture on her desk, the one Gus took last year at one of their start-of-summer reunions. They’re all squished together into one booth: Wynonna sitting on the table, her legs stretched across the surface and Doc’s hat on her head; Nicole in the back corner, Waverly on her lap; Doc next to her, his arm reaching up to take his hat back; Perry and Chrissy on his other side, smiling shyly at each other; Jeremy in the other corner, staring at Dolls with wide, hopeful eyes; Dolls staring at the camera with an unimpressed look on his face; Rosita grinning, her lips wrapped around a milkshake straw; Nathan and Mercedes leaning against the end of the booth, Mercedes’s hands in Nathan’s back pockets. 

“Haught!” Nedley shouts.

Nicole puts the picture down, picking up her pile of ‘While You Were Out’ message slips. Mrs. Dray has already called the station, to check up on Nicole’s progress. Nicole shakes her head and puts it at the back of the pile, vowing to check the rest of them before she leaves for the night.

She raps the back of her hand against Nedley’s door, opening it and slipping inside before he can yell for her to ‘ _ come in, already _ .’ She shuts it firmly behind her, slipping into the chair in front of his desk. “Sir.”

Nedley is looking down at a large sheet of newsprint, his handwriting scribbled all over it. She can’t read it upside down, but the large circular sketch in the middle of the page looks like the main field of the fairgrounds, just outside of town. 

“Come take a look at this,” he tells her without looking up. 

She goes around his desk. The newsprint does have the fairgrounds crudely sketched out. She can recognize the oval track in the middle of the fairgrounds, the animal buildings, and the stretch of booths that line the field. She can see where he drew in the Ferris Wheel and the parking lot of the outside vendors. She leans in a little closer, recognizing her name.

“What am I looking at, sir?”

Nedley straightens up, taking his glasses off and sliding them into his front shirt pocket. “What do you think you’re looking at?”

“Fairgrounds,” she says quickly. “Assignments for the Fair.”

Nedley smiles at her. “Exactly. You’re off Thursday night, but I’m going to need you to work during the Fair hours on Friday night and Saturday all day. You’ll be off Sunday.”

Nicole shrugs. “Sounds good to me.”

“The Mayor is expecting an influx of people this year,” he explains, putting his glasses back on and leaning over the map. “They’ve got the Ferris Wheel all fixed, and with the Three County Fair down this year, anyone in a 100km radius is going to be descending on this place.” Nedley sighs. 

Nicole frowns for a moment. The Purgatory Fair is always a big draw, and with all the extra folks the Mayor thinks will be coming, she’s going to be stretched thin on patrol during the Fair. 

“So we’re doubling up on patrol,” Nedley says, reading her mind.

Nicole nods. “That’s probably smart. If it’s a big crowd, that means more room for-”

“Vandalism, stealing,” Nedley interrupts. “The usual.”

Nicole leans back over the map, scanning for her name again. “So what’re you thinking?”

“I put in a call to the bank, to see if some of their security would be willing to work with us,” Nedley starts. 

Nicole is already shaking her head. “Sir,  _ Champ _ -”

“Volunteered,” Nedley cuts her off. “I’m partnering him with you. You’ll be in charge of the west side of the grounds, near the food.”

Nicole takes a deep, steadying breath. “Sir, I mean no disrespect, but-”

Nedley looks up sharply. “But what?”

“But Champ is a rent-a-cop with a busted knee,” she finishes, her voice only wavering slightly.

Nedley shrugs. “I just need bodies, Haught. I don’t need brains.” He looks at her, his eyes narrowed. “That’s why I have you.”

“Yes, sir,” Nicole says soft, her face hot.

Nedley is quiet for a moment, eyes roaming over the newsprint. “Is his knee really that gone?” he finally asks.

Nicole shrugs. “I don’t know, sir. I know he hurt it real bad.”

“The rodeo isn’t an easy game,” Nedley agrees. He sighs. “I know it isn’t ideal, Haught. I know there might be some bad blood between the two of you. Oh, don’t think I don’t know,” he says, looking at the surprise on her face. “You think when I asked Chrissy how her day was, she told me about her calculus class or what she was reading in her English class?  _ No _ . She talked about everything else. I know all about what you kids got up to in high school. I know all about Coach Ewan’s shorts, too,” he growls.

Nicole feels queasy at the mention of Coach Ewan. “Right, sir.”

Nedley folds his arms over his chest, widening his stance and taking a deep breath. “Listen, Haught. I know he’s only got so much to give, that Hardy boy. But being a leader isn’t about condemning people who can’t carry their own weight.”

Nicole thinks for a minute about Champ’s newfound beer belly and nearly snorts.

“It’s about lifting the people around you up so they can do the best job possible,” he continues.

Nicole feels her face flush with embarrassment, and she rubs idly at the back of her neck. Nedley has been doing this lately, ever since she told him she was staying in town. He keeps giving her speeches about what leaders are and how they help the people around them. Last week, she’s almost positive he quoted Bonnie Tyler at her.

“Yes, sir,” she agrees.

Nedley nods. “So, consider this part of your list. Another thing to check off.”

Nicole quickly pulls her notebook out of her breast pocket, flipping to the back half of it. She scoops a pen off of Nedley’s desk, biting down on the cap so she can use it. She scans the page for the next available line and makes a small check box, the tip of the pen hovering next to it for a moment before she looks up. “What exactly am I checking off, sir?”

“Carrying your partner,” Nedley says. He waits for her to write it down and then gestures for her notebook. “Let me see what we’ve got so far.”

_ Establish Neighborhood Watch committees _

_ Career day at Purgatory Elementary _

_ University day booth _

_ Train a rookie _

_ Start cross-government committee _

_ Schedule rotations _

_ Streamline filing and archives _

_ 2 community roles _

Nicole can recite the growing list aloud if he wants her to. Some nights, when Waverly is getting the next day’s assignments ready, or they’re sitting at opposite ends of the couch and Waverly is channel surfing or doing a crossword, Styx draped across their laps, Nicole will flip through her notebook, rereading the goals Nedley has for her.

_ If you want to be Sheriff, there’s more to it than just getting in your years _ , he told her at Waverly’s graduation party.  _ There’s personal growth. So let’s get started. _

The next morning, she had shown up to work and found a note on her desk that said she was in charge of scheduling for the week. She’s not sure what the test was, but when she carefully calculated the number of nights every person would have to work in order for each person to work the same amount, and then gave herself the extra night that didn’t factor in evenly, she was sure she passed it. 

She’s revitalized the Neighborhood Watch on Main Street and near the developments on Rt. 81. She sat down with the Saturday morning folks at the counter at The Patch, the old guys who complain about their lives, but know the comings and going of every person on their street, and convinced them to start a Watch on their streets, bringing the total Neighborhood Watch groups up to ten. She’s working on the people who live on Beech, Elm, and Conway - if only so Mrs. Dray has some real proof that it’s not Mr. Mortimer messing around with her garbage cans. 

She’s already scheduled to attend her fourth Career Day at Purgatory Elementary, and this year, she promised Jolene Odam, the teacher, she would find some plastic Sheriff badges at the Toys ‘R’ Us in the city mall so she could pass them out. 

She convinced Nedley to let her attempt a new filing system before Waverly even graduated, and she spends one night a week at the station late, stretching old files out along their barely-used conference table to transcribe, order, and refile as ‘active’ or ‘archive.’ 

She’s got more things lined up: she met with the Mayor’s office at the end of July and mentioned wanting to start a committee with one representative from each department in the town. She secured a booth for the end of November University Fair at the high school. She started helping Nathan with his Little League team, for community presence. 

She’s  _ trying _ . Nedley believes in her, and she wants to prove him right. She wants to show Waverly and Gus and Styx and Wynonna that she can do this. She wants to stick it to people like Mr. La Pierre and her dad.

She wants to show Curtis that he was  _ right _ . That she stayed on track; that she cares about people like he cared about everybody; that she can keep them on track, keep them safe. 

Nedley nods his approval and Nicole puts her notebook away carefully. She rounds his desk and leans against the back of the chair she usually sits in. “Was that all, sir?”

“No, I need your opinion on something,” Nedley says, folding his fairgrounds sketch in half.

“If it’s about the coffeemaker, I think we need to make Lonnie start buying out on the mornings he’s in charge of making it,” she says firmly. Every odd swallow, she can still taste the smell of burning coffee.

Nedley opens his mouth but pauses. “That’s not a bad idea,” he says. He scribbles something down on the corner of his newsprint. “But that’s not what I was going to say.”

“Oh,” she says quietly. “Right. Well, go ahead.”

“How kind,” he says gruffly, his eyes sparkling in amusement. “That Crofte-  _ Perry _ ,” he corrects, clearing his throat. “Perry called me last night.”

Nicole exhales slowly. Nedley has been better lately, since the New Year. He calls Perry  _ Perry _ to his face, lets him replace all of Nedley’s broken lawn care equipment, and even has him over during the Blue Jay games. “About what, sir?” she asks carefully.

“To…  _ talk _ ,” Nedley says, the word coming out strangled.

Nicole’s lips twitch. “That’s usually why people call each other, sir.”

Nedley’s eyes snap to hers. “Man to man,” he continues, glaring at her. “About his  _ next steps _ .”

Nicole’s mouth opens in a small ‘o.’

Nedley nods. “Got your attention now, didn’t I.”

“Sir,” Nicole says slowly. “Is Perry asking for your permission to marry Chrissy?”

“No,” Nedley says. “He already asked.”

Nicole chokes on the air in her throat. “ _ What _ ?” She shakes her head slowly. “What… what did you say?”

“Absolutely not,” Nedley roars.

“Sir!”

Nedley crosses his arms over his chest. “My girl is-”

“Not a girl anymore,” Nicole says carefully.

“She’s  _ always _ going to be my girl,” he says firmly.

For a second, Nicole’s chest aches at the words. She doesn’t always get jealous when Nedley talks about Chrissy like she’s the reason his world turns, but there are moments when she has go to back to her desk and pull out the small Polaroid she keeps in her drawer, the one of her and Waverly and Wynonna sitting on the front steps of the McCready house with Curtis on the step behind them, smiling down at them.

“Like I was saying,” Nedley says, still glaring. “My girl is an independent woman and she doesn’t need my permission to get married.”

“Oh,” Nicole breathes out.

“Least, that’s what she keeps telling me,” Nedley grumbles. “And I told Perry that, too. But if he doesn’t know that about her, maybe he isn’t fit to marry her.”

Nicole narrows her eyes a little, frowning. “Perry doesn’t know that?”

Nedley sighs heavily. “He  _ does _ know. And he told me he respects her ‘independence’ and all that. But he also knows she’d want to know he asked me first,” he finishes miserably.

“You said yes, didn’t you,” Nicole asks, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

Nedley just sighs again.

Nicole laughs and reaches out, clapping Nedley on the shoulder. “Well, congratulations, Father of the Bride.”

Nedley glares at her again. “Watch it, Haught. Or I’ll make you my designated driver for the night.”

She laughs again.

“Oh, get out of my office, would you,” he grumbles. He makes a shooing motion with his hands. “Get. I want to get home, and the Mayor wants these security details worked out before the end of the weekend.”

Nicole lets herself out of his office, still laughing. She sobers when she sees Lonnie glaring at her from behind a file. “You’re holding that upside down,” she points out.

He looks down at the file and scowls. “That’s how I read.”

“That explains a lot,” she says to herself, sitting down at her desk. 

She finishes going through her messages - another one from Mrs. Dray while she was talking to Nedley; one from Mr. Mortimer telling her that he wasn’t anywhere near Mrs. Dray’s trash cans, but he saw her cruiser at the house and can only assume she’s blaming him again; someone from Red Deer called her back about a 1982 Alpine A310 with Sammy Roy’s stolen license plates on it; there’s a message from Waverly, too, that she’s leaving work and heading home.

_ Home _ , Nicole thinks as she checks the clock. The message says Waverly called at 1530; the clock says 1640 now. She frowns a little. Waverly’s 1994 soft top Jeep Wrangler wasn’t parked out in front of The Patch when Nicole drove by earlier.  _ But maybe she finally listened to Gus and parked out back _ , Nicole thinks. 

She spends the last twenty minutes of work tidying her desk and making a to-do list for in the morning before her patrol. 

Nicole steps out of the station and immediately reaches for the top button of her shirt, pushing it back through the slot and taking a deep breath. She shakes her hair loose, running a hand through it as her other hand swings her keys in a perfect circle. She slips into the front seat of her Bonneville, hands sliding over the smooth leather of the steering wheel. She checks her rearview mirror, fingers brushing against the two tassels hanging there.

She turns the engine over, the tape she left in the deck bursting to life. She grins at her reflection in the rearview mirror and pulls out of the parking lot.

“ _ She is dancing away from you now _ ,” Stevie Nicks sings. “ _ She was just a wish. She was just....a wish. And her memory is all that is left for you now _ .  _ You see your gypsy. You see your gypsy. You say, ‘hey, hey, baby.’ And you still miss her. _ ”

She taps the steering wheel to the beat, taking a turn down the alley and swinging her car into the back lot of The Patch, pulling up next to Waverly’s bright red Jeep. She grins as she closes the door to her car, jogging up the back steps that lead to the upstairs apartment. The door is unlocked and Nicole makes a note to remind Waverly they can’t just leave their doors unlocked anymore; the rise in heroin in the province has pushed new people into the small towns just outside the city, and Nicole runs into more and more people she doesn’t know.

Styx doesn’t greet her at the door when she steps into their living room. Nicole pouts for a minute before she drops her keys in the small basket by the door and toes off her Oxfords. She sighs a little in relief as her socked feet hit the hardwood floors. She pads through their living room, stopping in the doorway to their bedroom and backing up a few feet.

She reaches out and adjusts the frame on the wall, her fingers lingering on Michael Jackson’s face behind the glass. She taps her fingernail against the date in the corner, April 29, 1971. She takes a deep, steadying breath, and pushes forward again, through the door and into her bedroom.

Waverly’s school clothes, the ones she left the house in this morning, are scattered on the floor and the bed. Nicole picks them up, putting them in the basket by the door. Nicole unbuttons her uniform shirt and puts it on the hanger she left on the back of the bedroom door. She peels off her white undershirt, tossing that on top of Waverly’s clothes in the basket. Her socks stick a little around the heel as she tries to tug them, but she manages to get them off and in with the rest of the dirty clothes. She shimmies out of her pants, immediately hanging them up on the back of the bedroom door next to her shirt.

She stands in her bra and her underwear in the middle of her bedroom and takes a deep breath.

If she listens hard enough, she can hear Bobo singing right underneath the living room. She can hear the jukebox playing something she can’t quite make out. She can hear the hum of the neon.

_ Welcome home _ , she thinks to herself.

She pulls a fresh white shirt out of her dresser drawer, standing in front of their hanging mirror as she rolls the sleeves up. She pulls the fabric, making the line a little crisper, before she opens the closet door and thumbs through her jeans. 

Waverly had nearly blown a gasket when she realized there was no closet space because Nicole had her jeans hanging up. “Why do they need to be there?” she had asked.

Nicole blinked slowly. “Because I ironed them and hung them up.”

Waverly shook her head. “No, no. You put them in a drawer and-”

“That’s how they get creases,” Nicole interrupted. 

Waverly stared at her for a long minute, mouth hanging open. “How did I  _ not _ know you  _ hung your jeans up _ ?”

Nicole shrugged. “We never lived together.”

Waverly softened slightly. “We live together,” she repeated.

Nicole slipped her finger through the belt loop of Waverly’s denim skirt, tugging her forward. “We live together,” she breathed out before she kissed Waverly.

She tugs on a fresh pair of socks, double cuffing her jeans over them. She pulls her Chippewas from the closet and slides them on. She’s nearly out the door when she remembers that she should probably grab a flannel. She picks a blue and gray one, pulling it on as she grabs her keys. She stops at the hooks by the door, picks out a black baseball cap, locks the door, and stomps back down the stairs. 

Nicole pushes through the screen door into the kitchen, hat in hand, just as Bobo pulls something out of the fryer. It hisses, splattering hot oil on the floor, nearly catching her boots.

“ _ There's a stain on my notebook where your coffee cup was, and there's ash in the pages - now I've got myself los _ t,” he sings.

Nicole winces a little, but slides out of his way as he spins with a bowl of fries in his hand.

_ “I was writing to tell you that my feelings tonight are a stain on my notebook that rings your goodbye. _ ” He looks up and sees her, throwing some of the fries into the air. “Shit, Nicole. When did you get here?”

“Back when there was a moment where I liked that song,” Nicole mutters. “A minute ago,” she says to him. “Nice pipes.”

Bobo slicks back his hair, running his hand along the close-shaved side and his fingers through the longer top. “It’s better than whatever they’re playing in there,” he says, nodding towards the swinging door that leads to the dining room.

Nicole kicks the door open a little with the toe of her boot, Deep Purple filtering in back towards her. She makes a face.

“Exactamundo,” Bobo mutters. “That girl of yours is out takin’ orders. But if you’re going that way, can you take these plates? My food is dying in the window.”

Nicole pulls her hat on, keeping her hair out of her eyes, and picks up the plates. “Where’re they going?”

Bobo pulls the ticket off the line. “Table ten.”

Nicole nods, backing out of the kitchen. “Door,” she hollers, just in case anyone in standing on the other side. She scans the dining room as she turns, finding Waverly stuck at the corner booth as she takes an order. Waverly looks over her shoulder, meeting Nicole’s eyes, her smile widening. Nicole takes the two plates to table ten, dropping them off and grabbing ketchup for them off of the next table. Nicole slips down the small hallway leading to the bathrooms, knocking on the door marked ‘Office.’

“Come in!” Gus shouts.

Nicole cracks the door open. Styx’s ears perk up as she pokes her head in. “Hey,” she says to Gus. She slips inside the office, kneeling down as Styx gets up and licks her face. “Hey, boy.” She scratches behind his ears. “Have you had him all day?”

Gus closes her accounting ledger and shakes her head. “I grabbed him after the lunch rush. Took him out and then didn’t feel like bringing him back up.”

Styx pads over to Gus, resting his head on her leg while she rubs his snout. 

“Traitor,” Nicole mutters. She stands up, twisting to stretch her back. “Where’s Wynonna?”

“Group project,” Gus says, her voice tinged with pride. She pushes her chair away from her desk, standing and coming around to the front of her desk. She leans up against the edge of it, her hip bumping the picture she has of her and Curtis when they were younger. “She’ll be back tonight.”

Nicole hooks her thumb over her shoulder. “Well, let me take Styx upstairs and-”

Gus shakes her head. “He can go and lie behind the counter.”

Nicole frowns. “He’s not supposed to do that.”

Gus narrows her eyes. “Do you own this place?”

“No,” Nicole says quickly.

Gus nods sharply. “Well, when you do, you can make the rules, girl.” She pulls open the door and Styx walks out ahead of them, through the dining room, behind the counter, and lays down on a dog bed Nicole hasn’t seen before. 

“I didn’t-”

“I did,” Gus says, her arms coming up across her chest, eyes narrowed like she’s daring Nicole to try and argue with her again. “Sit down. I’ll get you a soda.”

Nicole sits obediently, only rising up out of her stool to glare at Styx when Gus turns her back to fill a glass with Orange Crush. 

Waverly comes up behind her, sliding her arms around Nicole’s waist. “Hey, you,” she murmurs into Nicole’s sleeve.

Nicole turns on her stool, grinning. “Hey, yourself,” she says. She tucks some of Waverly’s hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know you were working.”

Waverly smiles sheepishly. “I got bored upstairs and Styx was already down here and Wynonna is at Nor-”

Nicole slides her palm against Waverly’s cheek. “You don’t have to defend yourself,” she says gently. “I was just surprised. What time do you get off?”

Waverly’s eyes sparkle as she pushes up on her tiptoes. “I think that depends on you,” she murmurs into Nicole’s ear.

Nicole feels her face flush. “I-I meant-”

“I know what you meant,” Waverly continues, her breath hot against Nicole’s ear. “I meant what  _ I _ said, too.”

Nicole swallows heavily, her hands flexing against Waverly’s hips as she holds Waverly steady. “Okay,” she breathes out, her whole body shaking.

Waverly giggles and presses a quick kiss just below her ear, pulling back and kissing the tip of her nose. She goes around the counter, pausing only briefly as she catches sight of Styx, and then leans forward on her elbows, smiling at Nicole. “How was your day?” she asks, taking Nicole’s soda from Gus and putting it down on the counter.

Nicole shrugs. “Good. Mrs. Dray called in again.”

“That woman needs a hobby,” Gus mutters, slipping behind Waverly and back into the kitchen.

Nicole rolls her eyes. “And Nedley saddled me with a partner for the Fair.” She sighs, rubbing at her forehead. “I’ve got to work Friday night and all day Saturday,” she says. “Sorry. But I have Thursday off, so we can watch the parade together.”

Waverly reaches for Nicole’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “We didn’t get to watch the parade the last few years,” she says.

“Well  _ someone _ went away to-” Nicole snaps her mouth shut at Waverly’s glare, giving her a soft smile. “It just means we get to make fun of Nathan’s polo shirt together. Mercedes had it  _ tailored _ .”

Waverly wrinkles her nose, grinning. “They’re so weird.”

“They’re so into each other,” Nicole complains. She picks up her soda with her free hand, taking a long sip.

“Who’re you partnered with?” Waverly asks. “I hope it’s someone fun, so that Saturday goes by quickly.”

Nicole chews on her bottom lip for a moment. “ _ Fun _ isn’t a word I would use,” she says slowly.

Waverly’s eyes widen and she squeezes Nicole’s hand. “Oh, baby. Is it Lonnie? You need to keep your record clean, so you can’t, like, kill him and dump him in the livestock tent.”

“Worse,” Nicole breathes out. “It’s Champ.”

Waverly laughs for the next ten minutes until Nicole huffs, threatens to leave, and instead loads “Hysteria” onto the jukebox fifteen times in a row.

Waverly pulls the plug after three, and spends the rest of her shift running her hands along Nicole every chance she gets.   
  
  


-

“I’m late, I’m late,” Nicole says as she grabs the last chair at the end of the table with her free hand, spinning it around and pushing the back against the table edge. “Sorry. I lost track of time on my run.”

Wynonna rolls her eyes. “What? Did you get lost in the woods?”

“As a matter of fact,” Nicole starts, lifting her other hand up. She drops what she’s holding onto the table. “I found something.”

The wooden board makes a thud as it hits the tabletop. Nicole winces a little, catching Gus’s head snapping in their direction at the noise. Waverly shifts, leaning into Nicole’s side to get a better look at the object.

“ _ No _ ,” Wynonna breathes out.

“Yes,” Nicole says. She drapes her arm across the back of Waverly’s chair. 

Rosita, sitting on the other side of the table, across from Wynonna, leans forward and frowns. “What is that?”

“Our sign!” Wynonna cheers, thrusting it forward. It nearly catches Rosita in the face.

Chrissy, on Waverly’s other side, tips her head, reading the words. “S-E-K-R-I-T Hideout?”

“I think it’s supposed to say ‘secret’,” Perry says. “But someone spelled it wrong.”

“It  _ does _ say secret,” Wynonna grumbles, holding the wooden board close to her chest. “Right, Nicole?”

Nicole nods, her eyes serious. “It does.” She sees Jeremy lean forward at the other end of the table, his finger up in the air like he’s going to interrupt and say something, but she glares sharply at him and he sits back, Dolls patting his hand gently.

Wynonna sticks her tongue out at Perry. “Chump.”

“Champ,” Nicole mutters.

Wynonna shakes her head. “No, I said ‘chump,’ not-”

“Champ,” Nicole says again, nodding towards the jukebox.

Champ is leaning against it, one arm on the top of the box as he hooks the thumb of his other hand through his belt loop on his jeans. The beer gut he’s got these days, courtesy of Pussy Willows 2-for-1 Thursday deals, hangs just over the top of his belt, making his stance look uncomfortable. His jeans are a little too tight everywhere, and his shirt is too small, not quite fitting over the swell of his stomach. He’s smirking at the corner table, wiggling his eyebrows at a girl Nicole vaguely recognizes, despite it all. He straightens up, pushing off the jukebox and taking a step towards the table.

Valdez shoulders him, knocking him off course. She barely misses a step, managing to keep the plate of pancakes in her hand from falling over, and she turns to glare at him.

Champ scowls and walks back across the dining room, picking a stool down at the end of the counter by Cecil Wright, Jr. He snags a menu and holds it up in front of his face, looking over the top of it to scan the mirror behind the counter. Nicole watches him go back to staring at the girl in the back corner booth.

“Officer,” Valdez says, coming up to their table. “Coffee?”

“And an orange juice,” Nicole decides. 

Waverly pushes a glass towards her. “I already ordered you one.”

Nicole feels her heart start to flutter. “Thanks, baby.”

Wynonna fakes throwing up. “Grody.” 

Nicole stares Wynonna down while she lifts the orange juice to her lips, swallowing half of it before she puts the glass back down. Waverly drops her hand to Nicole’s knee, her palm hot through the cotton of Nicole’s sweatpants. 

“Honey,” Doc says.

“Yeah, dickweed?” Wynonna fires back.

Doc grins. “That’s my girl.” He reaches in front of Wynonna and takes the wooden board out, laying it on the table. “Did you craft this yourself?”

Wynonna sits a little taller in her seat, her shoulders straightening. “You know it.”

“Did you want coffee or not?” Valdez asks.

Nicole startles for a minute. “Yes, coffee. Please,” she adds.

Rosita makes a ‘give me’ gesture across the table, looking at the board. “Let me see that thing,” she requests.

Wynonna glares for a moment. “Fine, Boobs. But only for a minute,” she says, firmly.

Rosita rolls her eyes, but takes the board carefully, holding it out in front of her so that Chrissy and Perry and Nathan can read it. “Cute,” Rosita drawls. “What were you? Like, seven?”

Wynonna’s cheeks flush red. “Ten,” she mumbles.

“And it’s a kickass sign,” Nicole cuts in, giving Wynonna a reassuring smile. 

“What did I miss?” Mercedes asks, coming up behind Nicole. She stops for a moment, running a fingernail down Nicole’s bare arm, from her shoulder to the crook of her elbow. “Cute shirt, Loverboy.”

Nicole flushes, remembering too late that she wore her white and black Loverboy Get Lucky concert shirt on her run. The sleeves are gone now, and there’s a few holes in the shoulders where Styx got his teeth in when he was a puppy. Waverly rolls her eyes affectionately, threading her fingers through Nicole’s hair and kneading lightly at the back of her neck.

“Hi,” Mercedes says quietly, sitting down on Nathan’s other side, her hand resting on his arm.

Nathan grins, his smile nearly as wide as his face. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Wynonna adds. “Are we playing a game? Did I win?”

Valdez comes back to the table, placing a coffee cup down in front of Nicole, a steaming pot in her other hand. She tops off everyone’s mug, pulling a clean one out of her apron and putting it down in front of Mercedes. “Have you guys decided what you’re going to eat yet?”

“I think we need to check the menus,” Wynonna says, trying to best to keep her mouth turned down.

Valdez glares. “Just because you’re the boss doesn’t mean I won’t dump this pot of coffee on that pretty leather jacket of yours.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Wynonna says, wiggling her eyebrows.

Nicole coughs loudly, elbowing Wynonna in the side.

“What?” Wynonna asks. “I’m kidding, obviously,” she says.

“I will dump this on you,” Valdez repeats.

Wynonna leans forward, resting her chin her hand. “Do you promise?”

Nicole suddenly looks up, staring hard at Valdez. “Hey,” she says, cutting off whatever she was going to say next. “You used to work security at the bank, right?”

Valdez puts the coffee pot down on the table, nodding. “Yeah. Why?”

Nicole leans back in her seat, Waverly’s hand slipping out of her hair. “Sheriff is looking for more people to help out with the fair. He’s partnered with the bank to bring in some additional bodies. Are you interested?”

Valdez thinks for a minute before shrugging. “Sure, why not? Gus closes down because everyone is packed into the fairgrounds anyway, so I was planning on going up to Thunder Bay for a long weekend trip, but money sounds better.”

Nicole grins. “Great. I’ll let the Sheriff know.”

Valdez gives Nicole a rare smile. “Thanks, Haught.” She clears her throat, her smile fading quickly. “What do you want to eat?”

“Two eggs over easy with white toast,” she says quickly. “And bacon. Oh! Two orders of bacon.”

Valdez doesn’t write anything down, turning to Waverly expectantly. “You?”

Waverly stares at Nicole. “ _ Two _ orders of bacon?”

Chrissy leans forward on her elbows. “Are you sure you need two orders, Nedley, Jr.?”

“There’s only one Nedley at this table,” Nicole says. She stops for a second.  _ For now _ , she thinks, looking at Perry. He’s looking at Chrissy, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watches her say something to Waverly and laugh, tossing her hair over one shoulder. She blinks, shaking her head a little before she looks back up at Valdez. “Two orders,” she says firmly. “I ran really far today,” she continues, speaking quietly to Waverly.

Waverly pats her on the knee. “I’m sure you did, baby.”

Wynonna pats her on the other knee. “Yeah, baby.”

Nicole scowls at Wynonna, pushing her hand off of her knee. There’s something in Wynonna’s eyes that Nicole doesn’t recognize. “What’s up with you today?”

Wynonna shrugs, suddenly self-conscious. She opens her mouth, about to say something, when Valdez taps her on the should expectantly. “Oh, right. Uh, pancakes. I could murder a stack of pancakes right now.”

Nicole keeps her eyes on Wynonna as Valdez moves along the table, taking orders. Doc is fine with his black coffee, but Dolls gets a breakfast platter. Jeremy orders french toast. Mercedes finishes the last of her coffee and stretches her mug out for a refill before she orders a few eggs. Nathan and Perry get the same as Dolls, but Chrissy and Waverly only order some toast and yogurt.

“I don’t know why I bother asking,” Valdez murmurs. “Nothing ever changes.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Nicole agrees, looking past Mercedes to Beth and Jonas at a small table, their mouths attached over their coffee mugs. 

“Can’t you arrest them for public indecency?” Mercedes asks, looking over her shoulder. She makes a face.

Nicole sighs. “Unless one of them starts getting naked, no,” she says, regret in her voice.

“Give it five minutes,” Mercedes mutters. “So, does anyone care why I’m late?”

“No,” Wynonna says, taking a large sip of Nicole’s orange juice.

“Hey!” Nicole tries to reach for it, but Wynonna turns her body, shielding the glass. “Give it back.”

“You won’t even finish it,” Wynonna says. “You never do.”

Nicole looks at Waverly. “Tell her to give it back.”

Waverly pauses for a second. “Are you going to drink it?” she asks gently.

Nicole’s mouth drops open. “I don’t believe you.”

“Believe it, baby,” Wynonna says, her lips turned up in a grin. 

Mercedes clears her throat. “As cute as the three of you are,  _ children _ , an adult is speaking now.” She looks around the table. “I sold the Wright property!”

Nicole’s eyes widen. The Wright property is a big house near the salt flats, abandoned after a fire that destroyed the kitchen and dining area of the building in 1945. Cecil Wright, Jr.’s family owns it; it was the house he grew up in. Some mornings, when he’s three coffees in, he’ll tell anyone who’ll listen about the high ceilings and the woodwork and the secret passages that run through the servant’s quarters, and Nicole knows that contractors have been hired and fired over the years, to do the remodel work, but she didn’t know it was finished. When they were younger, she would ride out on her Foiler, Wynonna on her Motomag, and Waverly trailing behind on her Stingray, her bicycle just a little too big for her body, and they would roam the salt flats, looking for the witch everyone said was buried there. She remembers Curtis would tell them if they could find her and get her to sign his Eagles  _ Witchy Woman  _ cassingle, he’d give them free milkshakes for a year.

They never found her, but he never charged them. And he always put extra whip cream on top.

Waverly leans forward. “I love that house,” she says dreamily. “It’s so…  _ romantic _ .”

“Then you’re going to love the people who bought it,” Mercedes snorts. “They’re from Los Angeles-”

“California?” Wynonna interrupts.

Mercedes rolls her eyes. “No, Calgary.”

Wynonna lazily flips her off. 

Mercedes runs a hand through her teased out hair, ignoring Wynonna. “ _ Anyway _ ,” she says pointedly. “They’re from Los Angeles and they _ hunt ghosts _ .”

Waverly gasps, sitting up so quickly that the top of her head nearly catches the bottom of Nicole’s chin. “Ghost hunters!”

Jeremy wiggles excitedly in his seat. “What’re they like?”

“Totally warped,” Mercedes says. “The woman is dressed like something out of the one of those romantic history novel Ms. Linda reads. Long dresses and those, uh…” She uses her hands to make a wide, bell-shaped motion from her waist towards the floor.

“Hoop skirts,” Waverly breathes out. “Oh, I bet she looks  _ bitchin’ _ .”

Mercedes nsorts. “She looks  _ witchin’ _ , that’s for sure. And her husband has a moustache just like Doc’s, except… better.”

Doc sits up a little straighter, his hand going to his upper lip. He strokes his moustache gently, his eyes wounded. “I beg your pardon.”

“You can beg for whatever you want, sugar,” Mercedes drawls. She pats Nathan on the shoulder. “As long as you don’t mind, honey.”

Nathan shrugs, leaning back in his chair a little. Nicole studies him for a minute, still so unused to his clean-shaven face and the clear look in his eyes. Before Mercedes, he had a month’s worth of stubble on his cheeks and bags as black as her Oxford’s under his eyes. She misses what he says back to Mercedes, but he’s grinning and she’s smiling at him and Nicole’s chest swells.

“So they bought the Wright house because of the ghosts?” Waverly asks, her elbow in Nicole’s side as she leans forward eagerly. Jeremy nods after her.

Mercedes shrugs, lifting a hand to inspect her fingernails. “They think there’s a witch there.”

Wynonna’s eyes widen, her head turning slowly towards Nicole.

“No,” Nicole says firmly. “That was just something Curtis  _ said _ . It wasn’t true.”

“Do you  _ know _ that it’s not true?”

“Do you know that it is?” Nicole fires back.

Wynonna shakes her head. “You can’t prove it isn’t true, which means that it  _ is _ .”

Nicole opens her mouth, but Waverly beats her to it.

“Finally!”

Nicole groans. “Not you, too.”

Mercedes looks between the three of them, eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Ghosts are  _ totally _ real,” Jeremy says.

Dolls shakes his head firmly. “No, they’re not.”

Chrissy and Rosita both nod. “I think they are,” Chrissy says.

Doc shrugs. “I don’t think much on the nature of such things,” he says politely.

Nicole holds up her hand to stop Wynonna and Waverly from saying anything. “No. No, we’re  _ not _ getting into this now. Not after all the time I spent convincing the two of you that ghosts  _ don’t _ exist,” she grumbles. She raises her voice. “Nate,” she says pointedly, glaring at her brother. “How’s work?”

Nathan looks at her for a long moment, his eyes skating towards Waverly a few times before he shrugs. “Same old, same old.”

Mercedes elbows him. “Liar. Tell them.”

Nicole straightens up a little. “Tell us what?”

Nathan shrugs again. “It’s not a big thing.”

Mercedes sighs heavily, throwing her upper body across his. “It totally is. He’s just being a noob.”

“I am not,” Nathan insists. He sighs when Mercedes keeps glaring at him. “The guys from corporate, down in Edmonton came up to the factory.”

Nicole braces herself. After his accident, the factory took him back on as an assistant floor manager, monitoring machines, setting up schedules, and ensuring the safety of the workers. Nicole knows he works hard at it, keeping people alert on the machines and verifying the safety checks before and after his shifts. She knows how much the job means to him now; now that he’s serious and planning for his future and making moves in his career. 

“So, Mr. Normand is out of town on his fishing thing, right? And so the guys from Edmonton showed up last minute.” He leans across the table a little, meeting everyone’s eyes. “They’re a total bunch of suits, by the way. Like, stick-up-their-”

“Language,” Waverly and Nicole say at the same time. 

Nathan looks between the two of them. “Well, they are. They probably all spit-shine their shoes and roll their coats and-”

Mercedes swallows a mouthful of coffee and slams her mug down on the tabletop hard enough that Nathan jumps a little. “Get to it, Spangler. Tell them about the part where they told you they were keeping an eye on you.”

Nathan sighs and mumbles something.

Dolls tips his head to one side. “What?”

Nathan sighs again. “They liked the way I run the floor,” he says, just a little louder. “They’re thinking of moving Mr. Normand to Edmonton and making me the floor manager of the first shift.”

Nicole smiles widely. “Nathan, that’s totally clutch.”

“That’s the tits,” Waverly agrees.

Nathan shrugs like it’s no big deal, but Nicole can see a smile at the corners of his mouth. He shrugs to hide it and busies his hands with rolling his empty coffee mug back and forth across the table.

Valdez comes back, dropping plates down in front of them. Nicole reaches for the salt as soon as her plate lands in front of her, sprinkling it over her eggs. They go quiet for a moment, everyone buttering toast and adding jam and slathering eggs with ketchup. Wynonna takes a pancake off the stack on her plate, rolls it up, and bites into it.

“How’s the meatheads?” she asks Dolls through a mouthful of pancake.

Dolls frowns for a second.

“It’s  _ great _ ,” Jeremy cuts in. “But Dolls is totally sad that his biggest fan is moving to Airdrie.”

“Definitely not,” Dolls mutters darkly. “Good riddance, I say.”

“Who is his biggest fan?” Wynonna asks, half a pancake sticking out of her mouth.

“Karen Daniels,” Jeremy sings.

_ Karen Daniels _ , Nicole thinks.  _ Karen Daniels, Karen Daniels, Karen- _ “The lady from the Country Club?”

Jeremy grins widely. “Yes! You remember her?”

Nicole snorts, remembering standing in the front hall of the Country Club in her Red Wings and her Poison shirt and her leather jacket, smirking at Karen Daniels. The woman had a pinched look on her face, like Nicole forgot to wash her feet. 

“Hard to forget someone who made me feel like I hadn’t showered in a decade,” Nicole mutters.

“Huh,” Jeremy says. “She always liked me.”

Nicole narrows her eyes. “Did you wear your bowties and call her ‘ma’am’?” she asks.

Jeremy shrugs. “Yeah? So?”

“That’s why,” Nicole says, swallowing some coffee. 

Waverly pats her on the leg. “You can’t win them all over,” she says.

Nicole snorts. “Says the town sweetheart.”

“Can we get back to the part where there’s a Dolls Fan Club and Jeremy isn’t the President,” Wynonna interrupts.

Jeremy pouts.

“Yes, you are,” Dolls says quietly. 

Jeremy smiles widely at him.

Wynonna makes a gagging noise. “Back to Karen Daniels,” she prompts.

“Oh, she’s moving to Airdrie,” Jeremy repeats. “And Xavier says he won’t miss her, but he definitely will. He liked all of that attention.”

“I didn’t,” Dolls insists.

“You did,” Jeremy says. “You know, ever since he got promoted to Personal Trainer, he can’t go anywhere without the ladies from the club hanging off his arms. They fight for his attention, you know? He’s booked solid from the time the gym opens to after it closes.” Jeremy looks at Dolls’s arms, his shirt tight around his biceps. “Not that I blame them.”

Wynonna chews on her bottom lip, eyes narrowed. “Do you get paid by the client?” she asks casually.

Dolls frowns. “Yes,” he says slowly. “Why?”

“And he makes killer tips,” Jeremy throws in. “Enough to buy me a really banging white coat with  _ four _ pockets and a new bowtie for work,” he boasts.

Wynonna jabs her fork in Dolls’s direction. “You know what? We should talk about how you can optimize your earning potential. I was learning about the concept of 80/20, you know? Earn more, work less. If you just flex maybe 10% more, you can probably earn 20% more tips.” She scoots her chair closer. “Consumers spend maximum dollars for maximum results,” she explains. “If you’re putting out what  _ looks _ like maximum results, and you raise your private pay - Do you have private pay clients?”

“Uh, yes,” Dolls says slowly.

“Great. Raise their prices by a few extra dollars an hour. Tell them you’re in high demand. If they really think you’re God’s gift to sculpted muscles, they’ll find the extra money to pay.” Wynonna nods, sure of herself. “Now you just need to readjust your schedule to take advantage of  _ primo  _ Workout Moms time.”

Dolls blinks at her. 

Wynonna looks around the table, at everyone staring at her, and frowns. “What?”

Nicole shakes her head slowly. “You’re…  _ brilliant _ .”

Wynonna waves a hand. “Duh,” she says. “I knew that.” She looks down at her plate, though, pushing around a bite of pancake.

Doc leans over and brushes his lips to Wynonna’s cheek, grinning widely.

They fall into a lull: just the sound of knives and forks against the plates, and the sound of coffee swishing around in mugs. Nicole lets the familiar Saturday sound wash over her, her hand flexing against Waverly’s back, drumming against her shoulder blade to the beat of “Centerfold” by John Fogerty. 

“So, big news,” Perry says loudly, getting everyone’s attention.

Nicole’s head snaps around. She can feel Waverly staring at her out of the corner of her eye. Nicole inhales sharply as Perry looks to Chrissy, a smile growing on his face. She hadn’t told Waverly what Nedley said, about Perry calling to ask if they could talk  _ man to man _ . She had told Waverly everything else: his approval of her list, the extra responsibility of dragging Champ around the fairgrounds and keeping him out of trouble. But when she had opened her mouth to tell Waverly the big news, nothing would come out. So she had rolled over, trapping Waverly under her body, her knees on either side of Waverly’s hips.

“Hey,” Waverly breathed out.

“Hey,” Nicole whispered back. 

Waverly’s eyes searched her face, her forehead wrinkling slightly. “Are you okay?”

_ Chrissy is going to get married _ , Nicole thought. Instead, she nodded, her forehead bumping against Waverly’s. “I’m fine,” she said.

Waverly’s mouth moves like she’s going to ask Nicole if she’s sure, but she purses her lips instead and lifts her head, kissing Nicole softly.

Perry drops his hand over Chrissy’s and Nicole’s heart starts to hammer in her chest. Waverly frowns at her, her fingers flexing on Nicole’s knee.

“Tell them, honey,” Perry says quietly.

Chrissy looks around the table, rolling her lips in as she looks at them all. “I got a promotion,” she says.

Waverly squeals. Doc claps loudly, drawing the attention of half of the dining room. Even Dolls smiles, his arm resting along the back of Jeremy’s chair.

“It’s just customer service rep,” Chrissy says. “So, Dolls, I can help you open a checking account with all those tips you’ll be making.” She winks.

Dolls’s fork scrapes against his plate noisily.

“Customer service rep,” Waverly echoes, her voice high. “That’s aces, Chrissy.” 

Perry grins proudly. “Customer service rep  _ for now _ ,” he says firmly. “She’ll be assistant manager in no time.”

Dolls clears his throat. “Jeremy aced his test last week,” he says, his eyes soft. “Not to take away from you, Chrissy,” he apologizes.

Chrissy waves her hand at Dolls. “No, no. Tell us all about it.” 

Dolls leans forward, his eyes bright. “He studied all week, talking about therapeutic uses and indications and totally aced it.”

Jeremy’s cheeks are red, his head ducked down. “Every practice question I got right, Dolls took off another-”

Dolls slaps his hand down over Jeremy’s mouth, glaring softly.

Wynonna wiggles her eyebrows. “Dolls, Dolls, Dolls. What else do we  _ not _ know about you.”

Dolls smiles politely, his jaw muscles clenched. 

Jeremy peels Dolls’ fingers off of his mouth. “I had a good study buddy,” he says loudly. “ _ That’s _ what I meant to say.”

Waverly leans into Nicole’s side, laughing softly. “Maybe we should have tried that back in high school,” she murmurs in Waverly’s ear.

Nicole chokes on the next sip of coffee she swallows. Waverly walks her fingers up the inside of Nicole’s thigh, slipping down along the muscle there. Nicole reaches down, closing her hand over Waverly’s and squeezing softly. 

Jeremy’s face is red still, but he hides it behind Dolls’s shoulder. “That was too much information.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Wynonna mutters.

Dolls glares at Wynonna. “It’s okay, Jer,” he says kindly, draping his arm across Jeremy’s shoulders. He looks sharply at all of them, meeting Rosita’s eye and mouthing something at her.

Rosita startles, her hand swinging out and nearly knocking over Waverly’s coffee. “ _ Oh _ ! Right. Doc totally brought down The Catfish.”

“Now, Rosita, we don’t need to-” Doc starts.

“He did!” Wynonna shouts. “He took that bastard down, once and for all.”

Nathan scowls. “How come you don’t tell her to watch her language?”

Nicole shrugs. “I’ve been doing it for 15 years. I’m tired of trying.”

“Who is ‘The Catfish’?” Perry asks.

Rosita sighs dramatically, holding up her hand before taking a long sip of her coffee. She puts it down, steepling her fingers on the table in front of her. “The Catfish is the biggest, baddest, car collector in the province. Doc got him to put one of our cars front and center at his place, and in return, we get a  _ ginormous  _ sign on his building. We’ve gotten four people drive down from the city this week  _ alone _ , looking for Doc.”

“My baby has a billboard,” Wynonna signs, placing a loud, smacking kiss to Doc’s cheek. She tips his hat back, nearly knocking it off his head.

Perry nods in Doc’s direction. “How’d you get him to do that?”

Doc’s cheeks flush pink, barely visible under the rim of his hat as he pulls it lower on his head.

Wynonna sighs. “Just tell him, you Joanie.”

“I restored his 1941 Packard 120 Sedan,” he says slowly.

Perry whistles. “That’s a really nice car.”

Rosita leans forward. “And she  _ shines _ , baby. You should see her when the sunlight hits the wheel wells. She…” Rosita sighs wistfully. “She’s the  _ tits _ .”

Perry points his fork in Doc’s direction. “You know, my dad has a 1953 Mercury Monterey Convertible in our garage, just sitting there.”

Doc’s eyes widen. “With chrome accents?”

“At one point,” Perry shrugs. “It’s just sitting there. I could probably get him to sell it to you, or just give it up,” he offers.

“Why, that would be the most marvelous-” He clears his throat, glancing at the table. “I mean, bitchin’.”

Wynonna snorts. “Real tough, cowboy.”

“Rosita’s new rust-away spray was what really made the job workable,” Doc continues. “Without her new formula, I wouldn’t have been able to even get past the cosmetics to the engine.”

“A new formula?” Jeremy asks, leaning in front of Dolls to hear the conversation better.

Jeremy and Rosita start a conversation about chemicals, rattling off terms that fly over Nicole’s head in rapid fire. She leans back, running her hand up and down Waverly’s back as she takes in what they’re saying, not understanding much of it. “18 and Life” comes on, and Nicole sings along softly, leaning over to press a kiss to the side of Waverly’s head.

Waverly turns and smiles at her. “What was that for?”

Nicole shrugs. “I love you,” she says quietly.

Waverly’s eyes soften. “I love you, too.”

A loud roar of laughter echoes across the dining room. Nicole looks up in time to see Kyle and Pete York push through the front door. She rolls her eyes a little, noticing the way Kyle’s letterman jacket doesn’t fit quite the same as it did when he was in high school. Pete is carrying a football under one arm, juking around chairs and tables. Stephanie Jones comes in behind them, her denim skirt too short and her crop top too tight. They spot Champ at the counter and head in his direction, hollering his name. 

Kyle spots them, his feet sliding across the linoleum as he stops and Pete runs into his back. “Well, well,” he says. “What do we have here? The breakfast club?”

Nicole sits up a little straighter. “Kyle.”

“Haught,” he says.

Waverly's hand flexes against her leg.

“Dork,” Wynonna says.

Pete scowls. “It’s  _ York _ .”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Wynonna mutters. “You know  _ The Breakfast Club _ isn’t about a group of friends who eat breakfast together, right?”

“See, I told you,” Stephanie says, reaching around Pete to smack Kyle in the arm. “They eat lunch.”

“Should be called  _ The Lunch Club _ , then,” Kyle scowls. 

Champ comes up behind Jeremy. “S’up, Freshman,” he says, puffing his chest out.

Dolls twists in his chair, his nostrils flaring.

“Oh, don’t get your tighty whities in a knot,  _ Dolls _ ,” Champ drawls. “I’m saying  _ hi _ .”

Samantha Baker pops up around Kyle’s arm, grinning brightly. “Oh my god, you guys. It’s like a  _ reunion _ .” She catches sight of Nicole and wiggles her fingers. “Hi, Officer  _ Haught _ .”

Waverly’s body stiffens under Nicole’s hand, still on Waverly’s back.

“Samantha,” Nicole says politely.

Samantha plants her hand on the tabletop, leaning in a little. She forces her hip between Waverly and Nicole, knocking Nicole’s arms off Waverly’s shoulder. “You know, you never did swing by and check out who was stealing my underwear off the clothesline.”

Nicole gives her a tight-lipped smile. “Officer Diaz investigated. There was no sign of anything missing.”

Samantha sighs heavily. “I bet you would have caught whoever it was. You’re so… attentive.”

Waverly clears her throat. “You know what, you can-”

Chrissy stands up quickly. “Wow, who put on Supertramp? Did someone let Bobo out of the kitchen again?”

“So we’re partners, huh?” Champ asks loudly.

Nicole fights a scowl. “Sure are,” she says. 

Champ nods, his mouth twisted into a smirk. “Nedley asked for me by name,” he brags. “Probably regrets not letting me join the force now.”

Nicole opens her mouth to argue, but someone steps on her foot under the table and her mouth snaps shut. She glares at Chrissy, but Chrissy shrugs a shoulder and gives her a smile.

“Don’t worry, Haught. I’ll be sure to take it easy on you,” Champ continues. “I mean, I won’t out-Roller you, okay?”

Nicole grits her teeth, one hand clenching tightly into a fist. She can hear Nedley in the back of her mind, telling her she needs to be a community representative. She’s trying to listen to that voice, instead of the one that sounds like Wynonna and is telling her to deck him. 

“You just follow my lead, okay?” Champ keeps going. “Maybe I’ll even let you buy me a pretzel.”

Nicole pushes her chair back a little, startling Samantha. 

Wynonna kicks the leg of Nicole’s chair, tipping her head towards the rest of the dining room. The Nedley-like voice in her head gets louder than the one that sounds like Wynonna, and it tells her to take a deep breath and recognize that Alex Roy, from Nathan’s Little League team, is sitting a few booths over, staring at Nathan like he hung the moon in the sky. 

Champ rolls his eyes at Nicole’s silence and claps his hand down on Kyle’s arm. “Come on, I found a table near Cora Odam,” he brags. “She brought a friend home from community college. Guess it’s a good thing she decided to go to school after all, huh?”

Kyle grins. “Take me to your leader.”

Champ makes his hand into a ‘call me’ signal, holding it to his ear and meeting Waverly’s eyes.

“Bye,” Samantha says, trailing her hand along Nicole’s shoulders. 

Nicole shudders, making a face.

Waverly glares at Samantha’s back as she moves past their table, following Kyle, Pete, Stephanie, and Champ. “I don’t like her,” she growls.

“Perky Tits isn’t so perky anymore, huh?” Wynonna asks. “I guess it’s true what they say. Everything changes after high school.”

Nicole rolls her shoulders, letting the tension drain from them. She shrugs. “Some things do.” She looks around their table - at Chrissy and Perry, leaning towards each other, finishing the rest of Perry’s eggs; at Doc in a conversation with Rosita about cars; at Jeremy whispering in Dolls’s ear; at Nathan laughing as Mercedes turns and makes a rude gesture at Beth and Jonas behind them; at Waverly drawing ‘N + W’ in the leftover ketchup on Nicole’s plate.

If she closes her eyes, she can almost smell the cafeteria chili and taste a fluffernutter in the back of her throat. She can see the three polo shirts Dolls usually wore. She can hear Doc talking about his motorcycle, batting at Wynonna’s hand as she tried to take his hat. She can imagine Rosita gushing about whatever Madonna has done lately, and Chrissy leaning into her side and Waverly across the table from her, smiling softly.

“Some things don’t, though,” Nicole finishes quietly.


	2. glory days, well they'll pass you by

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He hates walking in this parade,” Chrissy says, nodding at her dad as Nicole sits back down in her seat. “He said when he retires, he’s going fishing instead of staying in town during Fair weekend.”
> 
> “And then you’ll be walking in it,” Waverly says brightly.
> 
> Nicole’s eye widen. “Baby, don’t-”
> 
> Chrissy rolls her eyes. “Oh, don’t even. I know he’s training you to be his replacement. Dad brags about you all the time.”
> 
> Nicole feels her face flush. “He does?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again for another Flashback Friday. In the wrap-up, we have a Purgatory parade, a Fair, Best Cop Nicole (I'm told it's 'tag your p<3rn worthy), and some babysitting.

Mayor Hamilton sits in the back of 1961 Lincoln Continental Convertible, waving to the crowds on each side of Main Street.

Waverly leans into Nicole’s side, her lips Orange Crush-cool against Nicole’s earlobe. “Did you know that JFK was in a ‘61 Lincoln Continental Convertible when he was assassinated?”

“Did you know that the suspected murder weapon was a 6.5×52mm Carcano Model 91/38 infantry rifle?” 

Waverly sits back, her eyes wide. “How did  _ you _ know that?”

Nicole shrugs one shoulder. “I listen when you talk.”

“That was  _ years _ ago.”

Nicole rolls her eyes. “It was last fall during your American History class.”

Waverly smiles softly. 

Wynonna flicks Nicole in the ear. 

“Hey,” Nicole hisses.

“The parade is  _ going _ ,” Wynonna says, pointing towards the banner coming in their direction. “Pay attention or you’ll miss the candy. 

Nicole shifts in her folding lawn chair, the plastic cutting into the back of her thighs through the fabric of her jeans. “I don’t want candy this year.”

“You… don’t… want…” Wynonna stares at her, mouth hanging open. She turns to Waverly, jabbing her finger in Nicole’s direction, nearly catching her in the eye. “She doesn’t want candy.”

Waverly shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s kind of for the little kids, isn’t it?”

Wynonna pushes her lawn chair back hard, the metal legs scraping uncomfortably against the sidewalk. “For  _ little _ kids,” she repeats. She turns to Gus. “Did you  _ hear _ them? Candy is for  _ little kids _ ?”

Gus rolls her eyes. “Girl, would you sit down? Those Cote boys are more well-behaved than you are right now.”

Wynonna looks over her shoulder, across the street, at the Cote family, piling into the back of their 1990 Buick Century station wagon. Mr. Cote is leaning against the side of the car, a soda in one hand. Mrs. Cote is sitting on the trunk, her kids Connor and Charlie sitting next to her.

“Oh, please,” Wynonna says loudly. “Children are monkeys. They  _ look _ sweet and unassuming, but they’ll get down onto that road quicker than you can blink, and  _ BAM! _ ” she shouts, clapping her hands in front of Nicole’s face. “There goes your caramel apple pops.”

Nicole scowls, dropping her hand to Styx’s head, scratching softly. “Relax, Wynonna. You’re going to get Styx all worked up.”

Wynonna looks down, her cheeks flushing. She drops to her knee, pressing her forehead to Styx’s snout. “I’m sorry, buddy. I didn’t meant to scare your momma.” She grins at Nicole. “Even if she is a bit-”

Nicole makes a grab for Wynonna, frowning when Wynonna dances out of her reach. Nicole pauses for a second. “Are they really throwing out caramel apple pops?”

Wynonna grins widely. “I gave Doc a whole box to throw our way,” she says, her eyes sparkling.

Waverly sighs. “You two are like overgrown children.”

Wynonna glares at her. “No, we’re- The firetruck!” she yells, pointing down the street.

Across the blacktop, the Cote kids are doing the same.

Nicole sits back in her seat, Styx laying down at her feet. Waverly settles back in her chair, leaning towards Nicole’s armrest. Her hand reaches across the space between them, her fingers landing on Nicole’s bare arm.

Nicole can hear the starting sounds of the Purgatory High School Marching Band. The banner holders are lingering in front of them, waiting for the Mayor’s Lincoln to get a little further ahead. Just behind them, kids with trumpets and drums march noisily. Then there’s the Fire Chief and Sheriff Nedley. Beyond that, the town’s fire engine is idling. Nicole knows that the town’s best cruiser, the new one with the shiny decal on the side, is right behind the fire engine. Linda gets to drive it this year; she even went and got her eyes checked over to make sure her prescription is up to date.

Nicole feels Styx settle on the top of her Red Wing Brogue Rangers. She leans down, brushing some dog hair off her dark denim jeans, stroking a finger down his snout. When she sits back up, Waverly’s fingers wrap around her arm again, brushing over the pulse point in Nicole’s wrist.

“Are we too late?” Chrissy asks, dropping her folding chair down on Nicole’s other side. Perry’s face is flushed, like they got stuck parking at the post office and had to run down Main Street to The Patch. He puts the chair in his hand down, Gus sliding over a little so there’s room.

Styx lifts his head, catching sight of Chrissy and Perry. His tongue lolls out of his mouth as he pads towards them, lifting his head for the chin scratch he’s expecting from Chrissy.

The first time Styx met Perry, he had sat back a little, eyes untrusting as he took in Perry and Chrissy, standing a few feet away from Styx’s new friend, Sheriff Nedley.

“I love that dog,” Nedley had declared. He tossed Styx another treat. “Dog is man’s best friend, you know,” he told Perry. “They know a man’s true character.”

When Perry knelt down and Styx came over willingly, Nedley had scowled. “Mutt,” he muttered, the soft look in his eyes taking the sting out of his words.

Styx nudges Perry’s hand now, looking for his head scratch. Perry grins, giving Styx a good rub from his snout to behind his ears. Styx trots back towards Nicole, ducking behind her chair and curling up at Gus’s feet, satisfied.

Mayor Hamilton’s car eventually creeps forward, allowing the Purgatory County Fair banner to finally come closer. Benji, Billy, and Bobby Thompson are holding the edges and the middle, grinning proudly.

“Hey, Officer Haught!” Bobby shouts, his side closest to The Patch.

Nicole watches Benji’s head snap around at the mention of her name. His eyes skate past her and land on Waverly, one of his hands lifting in a wave.

The banner dips down on his side. Bobby and Billy shout his name, and Nicole can see Benji’s face turn red as he scrambles to pick up his sinking post.

Waverly waves back, a wide smile on her face, but Benji is staring straight ahead, marching with wooden legs. Bobby bends down, the middle of the banner slipping for a moment as he picks up a small rock. He chucks it at Benji’s feet.

Nicole nudges Waverly gently, leaning over to whisper into her ear. “You have an admirer.”

Waverly frowns. “Who, Benji?”

“Yes, Benji. Did you see his face?”

Waverly leans forward in her seat, but Benji and his brothers have already moved past The Patch and are marching steadily towards the end of Main Street. From there, they’ll follow the road out to the fairgrounds. There’s more crowds, packed into the bleachers at the racetrack, and the parade will end just past that. The floats and trailers will park on the west side of the fairgrounds, near the food. Nicole will be in charge of monitoring that on Friday and Saturday.

She had talked to Nedley and convinced him to let her partner with Valdez for her Friday night shift. She’ll still be stuck with Champ on Saturday, but it’s better than being attached to him for both shifts. 

“I went back into the archives,” she told Nedley. “And most of the police-related incidents occurred during opening night, Friday night, and Saturday night.” She handed him the small chart she had put together by hand. Waverly had helped her plot it out in even lines. “I think it’ll be important to have our most physically capable people working our most vulnerable times.”

Nedley stared at her, eyes narrowed. “You just don’t want to work with that Hardy boy.”

Nicole considered lying, but she sighed instead. “No, sir. I really don’t want to work with him.”

Nedley scoffed. “Honesty is a good quality, Haught. But so is working through the things you don’t like to do.”

“I understand, sir,” she said, reaching for her chart.

Nedley dropped his hand down on the chart, pulling it across the desk away from Nicole. “I’ll hold onto this.” He peered up at her. “You put this together yourself?”

Nicole nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”

Nedley pursed his lips a little, looking over the chart. “Put this on your list,” he finally said. “I’d like to see more of this.”

Nicole fought a smile. “Yes, sir.”

“As for Hardy,” Nedley said. “I can put him out on the north gate, with Diaz. But not because you don’t want to be partnered with him,” he said seriously.

“I understand, sir,” Nicole says.

“Because.” Nedley continued over her. “The reputation of our Fair won’t be sacrificed.”

Nicole fought another smile, sucking her bottom lip instead. “Of course, sir. I appreciate it, sir.”

“Now get out of here. And tell Lonnie to leave that damn copy machine alone. If he wants, I’ll go to the Toys ‘R’ Us and get him a damn Tyco Magic Copier.” He scowls at the look of surprise on Nicole’s face. “I’m not the best Santa Claus Purgatory’s Christmas in July weekend has ever seen for no reason. And you do best to remember that.”

Nicole straightened up a little. “Yes, sir. Absolutely.” 

“No, he  _ doesn’t _ ,” Waverly says, tapping her hand against Nicole’s arm as if she’s been repeating herself for a minute. “Don’t be a noob.”

Nicole laughs. “I’m not kidding. You waved, and he got as red as a stoplight.”

Waverly waves a hand at her dismissively. “You’re completely-”

Whatever Waverly is going to say is swallowed up in the sound of the Purgatory Marching Band. It’s not a big band, but they’re loud. Their brass section tries to outplay their percussions. Their woodwinds get lost in the marching and the sound of the fire truck behind them. They’re trying to play “25 Or 6 To 4” by Chicago, but they’re off-tempo and each section is trying to out-play the other.

“I like when they play ‘Because the Night’ instead of this,” Waverly says, shouting in her ear.

One of the trumpets hits a note that turns Nicole’s stomach over. “You like 10,000 Maniacs  _ better _ than Chicago?” Nicole shouts back.

Waverly shrugs a shoulder at her.

“25 Or 6 to 4” starts to fade out and the band transitions into “Eye of the Tiger” next.

Nicole thinks back to Dolls in shorts and his gloves, bouncing on the tips of his toes. Everytime Survivor comes on, she can’t help but think about him landing that last punch right under Bryce Cooper’s chin. She feels a small shiver through her body as she remembers the sound of Bryce hitting the mat, Waverly’s lips on her own. 

She sits up a little, scanning the crowd as far as she can see. She knows Chrissy said the other day that everyone else was meeting at the garage to watch the parade from there. She’s sure that if Dolls and Jeremy aren’t here with them, that’s where they are. She’s sure Rosita is there, too. Maybe even Mercedes; Rosita and Mercedes have a strange love for Madonna that Nicole can’t stomach. 

“This music is terrible!” Wynonna shouts, her hands clapped over her ears.

Nicole opens her mouth to argue that they’re just kids, but winces when the brass section all plays different notes. 

Chrissy comes around her, crouching down in front of Waverly, balancing her hands on Waverly’s knees. She leans in, her lips moving against Waverly’s ear.

If Nicole listens hard enough, she can hear the sound of a Snapper lawnmower under the roar of a wayward trombone. 

Chrissy taps her on the knee to get her attention. Nicole looks down, about to ask what she wants, when something in the marching band catches her eye. 

The drum major, Danny White, stops to yell at someone in the brass section, not noticing the drums coming his way. Nicole looks around, but no one is moving.  _ If he doesn’t move, he’s taking a bass drum to the face _ , she thinks. She lunges into the street, grabbing the drum major by the back of his uniform, and pulls.

“Wow. Thanks, Officer Haught,” the drum major pants, ducking a bass drum as it sways towards him. “You’re the bomb.” 

“Sure, kid,” Nicole pants, letting him go and smoothing a hand down her REO Speedwagon shirt. “Just…  _ pay attention _ .” She stands in the street for a second, her hand pressed against her side as a sudden spike of pain radiates through her body.  _ No more Orange Crush for the day _ , she thinks to herself, already knowing she won’t hold herself to that rule. 

Nicole looks up, meeting Nedley’s eyes, and she feels panic rising in her throat.

He’s walking with Juan Carlo, the Purgatory Fire Chief, the two of them holding the Purgatory Emergency Services banner. Nicole feels her face flush, but Nedley nods sharply, a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. She watches Nedley elbow Carlo in the side, nodding in her direction. Carlo looks up and over at her, studying her. 

Nicole stares back at him. Fire Chief Carlo had agreed to meet with her back in August, after Nicole met with the Mayor’s officer about an inter-department committee. He had told her that getting one of his guys to volunteer to be on the committee would be tough, but when Nicole had left the station house with three names of people willing to join, he had seemed a little impressed.

Carlo nods at her, turning back to Nedley. 

“He  _ hates _ walking in this parade,” Chrissy says, nodding at her dad as Nicole sits back down in her seat. “He said when he retires, he’s going fishing instead of staying in town during Fair weekend.”

“And then you’ll be walking in it,” Waverly says brightly.

Nicole’s eye widen. “Baby, don’t-”

Chrissy rolls her eyes. “Oh, don’t even. I know he’s training you to be his replacement. Dad brags about you  _ all _ the time.”

Nicole feels her face flush. “He does?”

Chrissy groans. “For serious. Perry is worried he’s never going to be as impressive as you, and he’ll always be the third favorite.”

“I’m…” Nicole inhales sharply. “That’s…”

Chrissy laughs. “Don’t worry. You’ve always had my vote.”

Waverly wiggles her eyebrows. “Mine, too.”

The marching band is further away now, and Nicole can hear herself think. They must have given up on “Eye of the Tiger” because they’re playing Van Morrison’s “Wild Night” instead.

Chrissy grins at her, squeezing her knee gently before getting back up and sitting down in her seat.

Wynonna starts swatting at Nicole, her whole body up and out of her chair. She’s bouncing on the tips of her toes excitedly, her hand still flapping back and hitting Nicole. Nicole holds up an arm, trying to deflect the blows.

“The firetruck!” Wynonna shouts.

The fire engine turns on its lights, the siren  _ whooping _ as it gets closer. Nicole ducks under Wynonna’s continued hits, but Styx is fine; content and wrapped around Gus’s ankles.

“It’s the-”

“Stop hitting me,” Nicole growls, grabbing Wynonna’s hand the next time she brings it down. She squeezes until Wynonna flinches and sticks her tongue out. 

The firefighter driving the truck, a guy named Gauthier, tosses a handful of Green Apple Chupa Chups Big Babol Bubble Gum in her direction. “Hey, Haught!” he shouts, a smile on his face. “Next department softball game, you’re going down!”

Nicole shakes her head. “Sure thing, Gauthier. If you manage to find those replacement knees in time.”

Gauthier waves his hand at her dismissively, tossing another handful of gum towards the other side of the road. Under the truck, Nicole can see the feet of the Cote children scrambling across the pavement to get to it. Nicole turns to tell Wynonna what they’re doing, but when she looks, Wynonna is gone. She sighs when she sees Wynonna in the middle of the road, scooping up pieces of gum and shoving them in the pocket of her jeans.

“Get bent,” she mutters when Nicole opens her mouth to say something. “I  _ like _ this gum.”

Nicole puts up her hands in surrender. 

Wynonna pointedly pulls out a piece of gum, unwrapping it and putting it in her mouth. 

Nicole rolls her eyes and shoves at Wynonna when she tries to stand in Nicole’s view. Wynonna keeps backing up, the back pockets of her jeans the only thing Nicole can see. Nicole pushes harder but Wynonna doesn’t budge. Just as Nicole is about to shout, Waverly reaches over, pinching the sliver of skin between the top of Wynonna’s jeans and the bottom of her R.E.M shirt.

Wynonna turns, her eyes wide and her mouth opening.

“Girls,” Gus says sharply.

Their heads turn.

“Act like adults,” Gus says firmly.

Even Styx is looking at them, disappointment in his eyes. He lets out a small huff and puts his head back down, his eyes closing as he settles on top of Gus’s shoes. Nicole sinks back into her chair and reaches blindly for Waverly’s hand, lacing their fingers together when they touch. 

The Sheriff’s Department is next in line. Nicole grins as the cruiser inches towards them. The late afternoon sun hits the hood and gleams. Nicole’s hands ache for a minute, the memory of buffing the body of the car all yesterday afternoon washing over her.  _ It was worth it _ , she thinks as the cruiser comes closer. The new decal, a replica of the insignia on her uniform, looks perfect next to the big black ‘Sheriff’ lettered along the side of the car.

Linda sits tall behind the wheel, her new glasses low on her nose as she hangs one arm out of the open driver’s window. Lonnie is in the passenger seat, bouncing like a kid at Christmas. He hooks his arm over the hood of the car, narrowly missing the lights on the roof as he tries to throw a handful of Warhead Sour Hard Candies in her direction.

“No one likes those!” Wynonna yells.

Waverly squeezes her hand. “Go get me some,” she says. 

Nicole laughs. “I’m not going to get you any.”

Perry laughs and scrambles past her, scooping a handful of candy off the pavement.

“ _ Nicole _ ,” Waverly whines. “Please?”

“Lemon!” Chrissy yells from behind her. “Get me lemon!”

Perry stops and scans the pavement, his eyes lighting up when he spots a yellow warhead candy a few feet away. He leans down, his arm outstretched, only for the candy to disappear under his hand. “What the-” He straightens up. “That’s  _ mine _ .”

Connor Cote sticks his tongue out at Perry, sprinting back across the road to his parents.

Perry’s mouth drops open. He turns and looks back at them, his eyes wide. “Did you see that?” he asks Chrissy.

Chrissy holds a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her laugh. 

After Linda is a long line of tractors, pulling flatbeds turned into floats, each preceded by a banner. Nicole finally gets up and grabs some Pixy Stix that the local girls’ club is handing out. They partnered with the preschool this year, and Jolene Odam hands her a homemade Purgatory Pride flyer as she reaches for another handful of the colored sugar straws.  _ Made by Kat Fortin _ , it says in one corner.

“Specially made for you,” Jolene yells over the Purgatory Bank behind them, a megaphone held up to the Toshiba RT-120S Vtg Boombox the bank president, Mr. Hebert, is lugging. 

Nicole grins down at the flyer. Kat Fortin’s older brother Kenny plays on Nathan’s Little League team, and she comes to all of the games and practices. She drew a picture of someone that looks like it’s supposed to be Nicole, in big black boots and a giant white Stetson hat on top. It says, “The Purgatory Pride” in big red letters at the top of the page, and there’s a big yellow star over the drawing, where a badge might be.

“What is it, baby?” Waverly asks.

Nicole hands her flyer.

“Is that a Purgatory Pride flyer?” Wynonna asks.

Nicole nods. She knows the preschool makes them every year, and they usually pass them out at the entrance to the Fair. Nicole remembers being in preschool, thinking hard to come up with an idea for her flyer.  _ What are you most proud of in Purgatory?  _ her teacher, Mrs. Pellitier had asked them. Nicole ended up drawing a picture of her family and the bowling alley - it was the coolest thing she did all summer that year. She liked the floor and the way it lit up when they turned the lights down. 

“Let me see that,” Wynonna says, snatching it out of Waverly’s hand.

“Hey!” Waverly shouts.

Wynonna looks between the drawing and Nicole, her eyes narrowed. “She got the size of your ego right, at least? But she made your ass a little-”

Nicole snatches the flyer back, folding it carefully and trying to tuck it into the pocket of the flannel she’s wearing. 

“I think it’s  _ killer _ ,” Waverly breathes out, taking it back and unfolding it. She smoothes it out and grins down at the flyer. “See? They love you.”

Nicole feels her face flush, but then Gus is asking to see the flyer, and it’s being passed around from Gus to Chrissy to Perry and Nicole doesn’t get it back until she’s sure half the street has seen it. When she finally gets it back in her hands, five more floats have gone by and Wynonna’s grabbed a mixing bowl from The Patch to hold the candy that doesn’t fit into her pockets.

There’s the bank, playing “Man in the Mirror” and tossing out Airheads. The Better Business Bureau of Purgatory is behind them, Shorty holding their banner high. He hands out tokens to everyone and teases Gus for not wanting to walk with the BBB. The rotary club doesn’t hand out candy - they never do - but they move quickly, almost as if they’re trying to get away from the Country Club float behind them. Nicole scans the float for Dolls, but she’s not surprised he isn’t there. Wynonna cracks up when she sees Karen Daniels on the float, decorated in the shape of a golf ball, waving like Princess Diana. Karen’s eyes find Wynonna in the crowd and she scowls softly when Wynonna sweeps a handful of Now and Laters off the ground. The Purgatory Veterans Military Band plays “Heart of Oak” and passes out Necco candy wafers. Wynonna tries to boo them, but Nicole glares at her and she stops. 

Nathan’s Little League team comes up after the youth football team, in their brand new bright blue jerseys and hats. Nicole can see Cub and Bobby, their center fielder, holding the banner that reads “Gardner Realty’s Grounders” in large, white letters. Mercedes’s face is in the corner of the banner, her sponsorship the reason they can afford all their equipment this year. Nathan is standing tall in the back of the group, his polo shirt tailored and sharp-looking. 

“Officer Nicole!” Cub yells. “Look at us! We look  _ bitchin’ _ !”

Nathan lifts a hand in greeting, his cheeks flushed. He points at his shirt, picking at the collar. Nicole flashes him a thumbs up and Nathan nods his agreement. He tried to fight Mercedes on the color; he argued that a blue that bright wouldn’t look so good, but Mercedes won and Nicole is glad she did. The shirts look totally rad. 

The rest of the kids all shout her name, and Cub passes his side of the banner off to Louis Richard, running over to her. He thrusts a shirt into her hands.

“What’s this?” she asks, unfolding it.

Cub makes a face. “It’s a shirt.”

“Well, obviously it’s a-” Nicole stops herself. “I mean, why do I have it?”

Cub shrugs. “Ms. Mercedes told me it’s yours, and that I was supposed to give it, uh, di-du- _ directly _ to you,” he says, stuttering over the word.

Nicole holds the shirt up a little higher, letting it shake out. She feels her face burn and she drops the shirt to her lap, immediately covering it with her hands.

“What?” Waverly asks. “What’s wrong?”

Nicole shakes her head quickly. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Waverly stares at her for a second before she shrugs. “If you’re sure,” she says slowly.

“Totally. Absolutely,” Nicole says, her tongue twisting as she practically spits the words out.

Cub looks at her for a minute. “Okay, well-”

“Woah, there, Cubby,” Wynonna interrupts. She stretches her hand out. “Don’t you have something for us?”

“Like what?” Cub challenges.

Wynonna rolls her eyes. “Listen, short stack, I don’t have time to sit here and argue with a 6-year-”

“I’m  _ eight _ ,” Cub argues back.

Wynonna purses her lips. “Gimme the gum, kid.”

Cub sighs heavily, but fishes a few bags of Big League Chew out of his pocket. He turns to Nicole, frowning. “Isn’t this intim-intimate-” He sighs, frustrated. “Isn’t she being mean?”

Nicole makes a sympathetic face. “Her whole life, unfortunately.”

Cub narrows his eyes at Wynonna. “I’ve got my eyes on you,” he promises.

Wynonna shrugs, ripping open a packet of pink bubblegum, tossing a large chunk of it into her mouth. “Okay, kid.”

Cub runs back into the road, taking his side of the banner back from Louis and glaring over his shoulder at Wynonna.

Nicole twists in her seat, her mouth open to tell Waverly about how Mercedes convinced her dad’s real estate company to front the cost of renovating the fields in return for some free advertising. She lifts her arm, reaching out to touch Waverly’s shoulder, but Waverly turns faster, her hand darting forward and grabbing the shirt in Nicole’s lap.

“Waverly,  _ no _ , don’t-”

Waverly lets the shirt unfurl, her eyes scanning the front. “Why’re you hiding it? It’s not-” Waverly stops herself, choking on the air in her throat. “Oh.”

Nicole exhales loudly, dropping her head into her hand. “I told you.”

“ _ Loverboy _ ,” Waverly reads aloud. She lowers the shirt, her eyes sparkling. “She had ‘ _ Loverboy’ _ stitched into your shirt.”

Nicole’s head snaps up. “It’s  _ not _ funny.”

Waverly laughs. “It is,” she insists. “Oh my god, she actually had ‘Officer Nicole aka Loverboy’ stitched into this shirt.”

Nicole grinds her back teeth together. “No, it’s not. Give it back,” she demands.

Waverly moves the shirt when Nicole reaches for it, holding it just out of her reach. 

“Waverly,” Nicole warns.

Waverly balls the shirt up and tosses it, too quickly, over Nicole’s head. It lands in Chrissy’s lap. Nicole spins in her lawn chair, eyes narrowed.

“Chrissy,” she says gently. “Give me the shirt.”

“Waverly, how do you call your loverboy?” Chrissy asks.

Waverly grins widely. “ _ Come here, Loverboy _ ,” she sings.

“Chrissy,” Nicole repeats, her voice strained.

“And if he doesn’t answer?” Chrissy continues.

Waverly leans up in her lawn chair on her knees, balancing her hands on Nicole’s chair. “ _ Oh, Loverboy, _ ” she calls.

Nicole growls softly. Styx lifts his head, his ears perked up at the sound. “Get her,” Nicole tells Styx. “Get her, boy.”

Styx drops his head again, turning onto his side and nuzzling against Gus’s ankle.

“And he  _ still _ doesn’t answer?” Chrissy asks again. 

Waverly takes a deep breath. “I simply say,” she starts.

Nicole turns and claps her hand down over Waverly’s mouth, stopping her from launching into a full rendition of Mickey and Sylvia's “Love Is Strange.”

“If the four of you want to act like adults and start paying attention, that Holliday boy is driving by,” Gus says casually. 

Wynonna immediately sits down in her seat, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. Doc is nearly in front of them, driving a black 1949 Oldsmobile Rocket 88. Nicole knows he restored the car himself, reshaping the wheel wells and scouring every junkyard in a 100km radius to find a bumper that fit. She hasn’t seen it out on the road yet, but it looks almost as pretty as her Bonneville does against the blacktop.

The car slows to a crawl, Doc’s body shifting as he takes his foot off the gas and hangs out of the window. “Well, hello there,” he says loudly. “I do believe I have something of importance to you.” He reaches across the front seat. He sticks a box of Caramel Apple Pops out of the window. 

Nicole is out of her seat before he’s done speaking, her hand closing around the box of Caramel Apple Pops. She holds it tightly to her chest, glaring when the Cote boys, halfway across the road and coming towards her, stop and glare back at her. 

“Thanks, Doc,” she says. She trails one hand along the sleek line of the car, whistling. “She’s  _ gorgeous _ .”

Doc grins, patting the door affectionately. “She is quite a looker. But…” he trails off, leaning further out of the window and craning his neck around to look at the small line of cars behind him. “My  _ real _ treasure is still at the shop.”

Nicole snorts. “You didn’t want anyone to drive it in the parade?”

Doc’s eyes widen at the thought. “I cannot fathom the idea. I rarely even let Rosita touch her. Lord knows that woman and her proclivities towards  _ testing _ her new chemicals.”

Nicole smiles crookedly. She’s sure that Doc’s car, the bubblegum pink 4-door 1979 Lincoln Continental Collectors Series 53B, is under a tarp in the corner of the garage, guarded by lock and key.

“There are a few more parts that need some tinkerin’, and then she’ll be running like the day she was taken off the line,” Doc continues. She’s nearly paid off, too.”

“And then she’s yours, huh?”

“If Bustillos doesn’t change his mind, and does, in fact, agree to sell it to me,” Doc says.

Nicole pats his arm gently. “He will, don’t worry.”

The car behind the Oldsmobile, a 1953 Buick Wildcat, honks. Nicole startles a little, gripping her box of apple pops closer to her chest. Ricky, one of the mechanics, sticks his head out the window.

“Would you-  _ Oh _ .” He flushes a little. “Sorry, Officer Haught. I didn’t realize it was you.”

Nicole lifts her hand in a greeting. “Don’t worry, Ricky. I’m holding up the line.” She takes a small step backwards.

“Rosita and the rest are at the garage, but they should be making their way down to the Fairgrounds,” Doc says as he starts inching forward again.

Nicole nods. “Wynonna talked to Mercedes this morning, and we’re all going to meet by the Ferris Wheel. I’m just going to wait until the whole parade passes and help Gus clean up the sidewalks.” 

Doc stares at her for a moment before his lips twitch, his moustache moving slightly. “Of course you are,” he says. 

Nicole wrinkles her nose. “Some people don’t understand what a trash barrel is for.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be talking about a particular person, would you?”

Nicole looks over her shoulder at Wynonna, now sitting in Nicole’s seat, shoving another large chunk of Big League Chew in her mouth. The paper wrapper flutters out of her hand, and the light September breeze carries it a few feet before Waverly stomps her foot down on top of it, turning to glare at Wynonna. She looks back at Doc and rolls her eyes.

“The Ferris Wheel, then,” he says, tipping his hat and settling back against the driver’s seat. He turns up his radio, “Electricland” by Bad Company just starting. He takes his foot off the clutch and the car pushes forward.

Nicole immediately pushes Wynonna out of her seat and hands Waverly her box of Caramel Apple Pops. Styx trots over, sniffing at her hand, his snout cold against her palm. She scratches his head and he sits at her side, between Waverly’s chair and her own, nudging her every time she stops rubbing.

Wynonna leans into her other side. “See that ‘84 Ford?”

Nicole follows Wynonna’s hand, finding a blue 1984 Ford Lincoln Mark VII in the middle of the line of cars, all with ‘Bustillos and Holliday Motors’ signs draped over the open back windows.

“It’s a Gianni Versarce special edition,” Wynonna says. She leans in a little closer. “And we  _ totally _ knocked boots back there, if you know-”

“We all know what you mean,” Nicole says quickly. She shudders. “Why do you need to tell me these things?”

Wynonna grins, reaching out and pinching her cheek. “Because I like the way your cheeks match your hair when I do.”

Nicole grumbles and turns away from her, avoiding Waverly’s eyes, sure that she’s laughing at the way Nicole’s blush spreads across her cheeks and down her neck. 

The last float comes by. Purgatory’s Veterinary Hospital drew the short stick this year, but Styx sits a little straighter as they get closer, his nose sniffing the air. He whines a little, looking up at her. Nicole sighs and starts to stand, but Waverly beats her to it, lifting up out of her chair and catching Styx’s attention.

“Come on, Styx,” Waverly says, grabbing for his leash.

Nicole sits back in her seat and watches Waverly walk Styx towards the float. She grins when Waverly turns her head and says a command Nicole can’t hear. Styx hears it, though, and sits right at her feet, head tipped back as he watches the doctor coming towards him and waits for the next command. 

Something in Nicole’s chest flutters a few times before settling down again. She watches the way Waverly smiles up at the veterinarian, charming him with a few words - even though it takes Nicole an entire appointment to get him to smile back. She watches Styx sitting tall, not moving until he gets told he can.  _ Waverly is home _ , she thinks to herself.  _ Waverly is home and we’re finally, finally doing this _ . Wynonna elbows her and makes a joke Nicole doesn’t hear, but laughs at anyway. Waverly says something to Styx and Nicole watches him jump up, putting his paws on the edge of the stopped float, his mouth open for a treat. 

Waverly waves at the veterinarian, looking down and saying something to Styx. He starts trotting back across the street, a bone in his mouth as he moves ahead of Waverly. The wind blows, kicking up some of the early fallen leaves. They swirl around Waverly, catching the ends of her hair and lifting it off her shoulder. Waverly laughs as she turns her head to keep them out of her face. Instead, the leaves stick to her jeans - the lightwash ones that Nicole likes, with pink flowers patterned across them - and her light blue denim shirt, rolled up to her elbows. She looks up and waves when she sees Nicole watching her.

Nicole swears that her mind must be playing tricks on her; she’s sure she can hear “Faithfully” playing.

“Take a chill pill,” Wynonna mutters. “You look like you’re about to go over there and marry her.”

Nicole ducks her head quickly.  _ Perry is going to ask Chrissy to marry him _ , she thinks. She still hasn’t told Waverly that.  _ Because Waverly wants to get married, too _ . Nicole breathes in deeply, the idea of marrying Waverly settling low and warm in her stomach. Then a cold burst of fear rushes through her and she shakes her head, chewing on her bottom lip as she stands up, stretching her arms high above her head.

“I just want to help Gus,” Nicole starts as soon as Waverly is close enough. “Once I get the wrappers all picked up and the sidewalk swept, we can go to the Fair. Or I can meet you there,” she offers.

“Don’t be silly,” Gus says. She takes Styx’s leash from Waverly’s hand, looping it around the parking meter the Mayor had installed a year ago. She ties the leash into a running knot and tugs hard to tighten it. Styx lays down on the sidewalk, his attention on the bone in front of him. “You girls go. It’s not much to do this year. I’m just going to tidy up Wynonna’s mess, and then turn in for the night before I head to Whitecourt for the weekend.”

“Styx-”

“I’ll let him up before I head home,” Gus says. “Then I’m going to swing by your momma’s house, Nicole. She needs some soup if she’s every going to get over that cold.” Gus sighs. “It’s too bad she’s not coming with me like we planned.”

Nicole nods. “She said someone at work gave it to her and it just… got her.” She pauses for a second. “Are you sure, Gus? I don’t want you to have to clean up the whole place by yourself.”

“I did it before you got here, and I’ll do it long after you three decide not to spend the parade with me,” Gus says. “Now, go. Enjoy the Fair. Don’t eat too many chili dogs,” she warns, pointing her finger at Nicole.

Nicole groans. “It was one-”

Gus narrows her eyes.

“Yes, ma’am,” Nicole says quickly.

Wynonna crashes into her side and Nicole stumbles a few feet. “Come on,  _ come on _ . Perry said he overheard Kyle York saying something about being able to break the chili dog eating record. Apparently, he hasn’t eaten in, like, two days.”

Nicole can feel Gus’s eyes burning into the side of her face. 

“You  _ have _ to challenge him if he tries for it,” Wynonna insists. “Your  _ pride _ is on the line.”

Nicole spares a glance back at Gus. 

Gus shakes her head. “Just don’t throw up on my back stairs, you hear me? The last thing I need is for that smell to drift into the kitchen and ruin the taste of all of my food. I expect the place to fill up when we open again on Monday.”

Nicole nods. “Yes, ma’am. Gus,” she corrects quickly. “Yes, Gus.”

Nicole folds all of their chairs up, tucking them just inside the door of The Patch while Wynonna tries to trade a few packs of Big League Chew for some of Perry’s Chupa Chups Big Babol Bubble Gum. Waverly is talking to Chrissy, adjusting Chrissy’s collar. 

“Nicole,” Gus says quietly.

Nicole looks up, a folding chair in her hand.

“You look after them,” she says, not asking.

Nicole swallows heavily, shrugging the sudden weight off her shoulder. “Of course.”

Gus looks at her for another minute before she nods and takes the chair from Nicole’s hand. “Now, get going. You let me handle the rest.”

Nicole drops her arm across Waverly’s shoulders, lacing her fingers through Waverly’s when Waverly reaches up to hold her hand. Wynonna hipchecks her, settling into step with them. Chrissy dances ahead of them, pulling Perry into the street and making him practice the waltz. Nicole looks back over her shoulder briefly, watching Gus kneel down to talk to Styx. For a minute, something glitches in the corner of her eye, and she swears she can see a man in an Eagles  _ Hotel California _ t-shirt hovering in front of The Patch, just below the neon tomato in the window.

“Curtis,” she breathes out.

Waverly tilts her head back. “What, baby?”

Nicole shakes her head softly. “Nothing. I just… I thought I saw something.” She looks back over her shoulder, but the door is closing behind Gus as she lets Styx into the diner. “Hey, how about you try and win me a prize, huh?”

Waverly grins widely, lifting her free arm and flexing her muscle. “I can  _ totally _ do that.”

“Perfect,” Nicole says. “I think Styx needs a new teddy bear.”

 

-

Nicole checks her Casio DW-6500, growling softly as the minute hand changes. The Fair doesn’t open until 1000, but she told Champ he needed to be at the west entrance by 0930 sharp, to go over their roles and responsibilities. The fairgrounds are slowly coming to life: fryers are being turned on and games are being powered up. There’s a thin layer of grease in the air that Nicole can taste on the tip of her tongue, and the games sound like the distant twinkling of imaginary fairies.  _ That’s what Curtis used to call them _ , she remembers. She lets her uniform sleeve fall down over her watch and adjusts her belt buckle, nodding a ‘good morning’ to one of the fair workers, stumbling into the grounds and heading for the games tent. 

She knows the feeling; it took four cups of coffee this morning just to make her feel like she was still living. She hadn’t finished last night’s shift with Valdez until 2330 and hadn’t crawled into bed next to Waverly until well after 0100. Waverly rolled over, told her that she smelled like fried chicken, and promptly fell asleep again, her fingers wound in the fabric of Nicole’s Rolling Stones tour shirt.

Just as she’s about to head for the bank of payphones near the restrooms, she hears the sound of an overworked engine roaring into the parking lot. Through the turnstiles, she can see Champ’s 1983 Toyota SR5 skid into the lot, spewing gravel in every direction. He twists the wheel hard, just barely missing Nicole’s cruiser.

Nicole scowls, folding her arms across her chest as Champ takes his time getting down out of his truck. The passenger side opens and Stephanie Jones slides out, her skirt catching on the seat as she tries to get down. Nicole looks away for a moment, and when she looks back, she feels that last cup of coffee pushing back up her throat. Stephanie is leaning back against Champ’s truck, Champ’s hand low on her thigh. He kisses her and Nicole fights back the rising tide of vomit in her throat.

Stephanie eventually pushes him away and saunters across the gravel lot to the brown 1977 Datsun 200SX parked near the edge of the grass. She wiggles her fingers at Champ one last time and slips into her car, cranking down the windows. Champ thumps the top of her car with his fist, making a lewd gesture with his other hand before he starts across the parking lot and towards Nicole.

“You’re late,” Nicole says.

Champ rolls his eyes. “Relax, Lieutenant Dan.”

A car backfires, and Nicole’s hand goes to her holster. Champ looks up two seconds too late, his finger in his mouth as he digs something out of his teeth. Nicole shudders and then takes a deep breath; it’s just Stephanie’s car starting.

Nicole watches as Stephanie leaves the lot, Joey Lawrence’s “Nothing My Love Can’t Fix” blasting out of her open windows. When she looks back at Champ, he wiggles his eyebrows.

“She’s a looker, huh?”

Nicole rolls her eyes. “Let’s go. We need to walk the grounds before the Fair opens.”

Champ shakes his head. “I already did that, last night. With Diaz.”

Diaz is a good cop. He’s honest and hardworking. But he played football back when he was in high school, and bleeds Purgatory Blue. She ran into them a few times while she did her rounds with Valdez the night before, and every time she saw them, they were talking about playing high school ball.

“Last night you were on the north gate. Today, we’re in the west section of the Fair.” She sighs heavily at the blank look on his face. “Last night you were working near the parking lot. Today, we’re by the food.”

Champ smiles crookedly. “Oh, good. I’m  _ starving _ .”

“We’re not here to eat,” she says, her back teeth grinding together.

Champ shrugs. “Take a red, would you. You look like you’re gonna blow your top.” He burps and turns, heading towards the first vendor cart. “Oh, pretzels.”

Nicole takes a deep breath and tries to remember what Waverly told her this morning.

“Just get through this shift,” Waverly had said, sipping from her first cup of coffee. Her voice sounded too loud in the silence of their kitchen. With The Patch closed for the weekend, and Gus in Whitecourt, there was no jukebox playing beneath their feet, no Bobo singing to his own songs, no Gus shouting orders over the line.

Nicole turned on the radio, just for background noise. She almost changed it when she realized it was The Cranberries, but Waverly started singing along softly, and Nicole kept it on, content to watch Waverly dance around the kitchen in an old Metallica shirt and her bare feet, singing.

“ _ You know I'm such a fool for you. You've got me wrapped around your finger, _ ” Waverly sang, swaying in front of the cabinets as she took down the jar of marshmallow fluff. “ _ Do you have to let it linger? _ ”

Nicole’s stomach had fluttered, still unused to this; to waking up each morning with Waverly’s hand on her hipbone, tracing small shapes and letters into her bed-warm skin; to not having to count the days until Waverly goes back to school; to getting a lunch packed every morning and a kiss on her way out the door; to coming home to Waverly stretched out on their secondhand coffee table, a pencil tucked behind her ear as she debates how much homework she’ll give her senior class.

Sure, they live above The Patch and Gus makes most of their meals and Nicole doesn’t pay much for bills, but they’re together, and they’re home, and Nicole swears that every song she’s ever listened to before feels  _ different  _ now.

“Just get through this shift, and then, when you come home,” Waverly said, looping her arms around Nicole’s waist, her fingers winding around Nicole’s belt. “We can watch this week’s  _ Due South, _ and I’ll read you that  _ Rolling Stone _ article you were saving for a bad day.”

“Styx  _ does _ like Diefenbaker,” Nicole said slowly, her hands running down Waverly’s back to the hem of her shirt.

“A deaf white wolf,” Waverly snorted. “At least his standards aren’t high, or anything.”

“And today would be the  _ perfect _ day to read about The Rolling Stones going back on tour,” Nicole continued. “After spending all day chasing Champ around like I’m stuck babysitting, reading about one of the greatest bands  _ ever _ getting back together could be just what I need.” Nicole grinned and leaned forward, pressing her lips to Waverly’s forehead. “You’re so smart, baby.”

“I know.” Waverly grinned, spinning out of her arms. “But you’re going to be late if you don’t get going.”

Nicole glanced at the clock and sighed. “Right. Wish me luck,” she said, pulling on her jacket.

Waverly leaned one hip against the the counter, her eyes sparkling. “You don’t need luck. You have talent.”

“Waverly and  _ Due South _ and  _ Rolling Stone _ ,” Nicole tells herself now. “Waverly and Styx and  _ Due South  _ and-”

“Did you crack?” Champ asks.

Nicole inhales deeply, trying to count to three before she responds.

“Or were you always this warped?” he continues before she can answer. He kicks at a ground-level electrical box. “I mean, I didn’t pay attention to you in high school. You weren’t my type.”

“Thank God,” she mutters. “Listen,” she continues, trying to cut him off before he can start talking again. “Let’s just get through this before the Fair opens. The Sheriff is going to be coming by, and I’m not going to be standing around like some kind of-”

“Morning, Officer Haught!” Stan, the guy who runs the pretzel cart, calls.

Nicole tips her hat in his direction. “Morning, Stan. How’d you end up doing last night?”

Stanley shrugs. “Broke even. People aren’t all too interested in pretzels these days. Not when you can get nachos,” he says, hooking his thumb in the direction of a cart a few spaces down. “Sure, I can put cheese on a pretzel, but it’s not the same.”

“John David has some pretty killer nachos,” Champ says, wetting his lips. “He even has tiny little olives you can put on-” He frowns when he notices Nicole scowling at him. “ _ What _ ? I like nachos.”

Stan shakes his head. “I’m afraid pretzels aren’t as popular as they used to be. If I don’t finish this year with a profit… Well, I won’t be back next year.”

Nicole’s shoulders slump. Stan has been selling pretzels at the Fair for nearly 20 years. She can remember the last year her dad was here, how he carried her into the Fair on his shoulders and she saw  _ everything _ , from Stan’s Pretzels to the line at the Ferris Wheel. The first thing she did, the first time she came to the Fair with Wynonna and Waverly, was drag them over to see Stan and get a pretzel; that Wynonna threw up after riding the Wild Mouse, the little kids roller coaster. When Wynonna ralphed on her brand new yellow and black Puma Clyde sneakers, Nicole almost thought about never eating pretzels ever again in her life. But Waverly bought her one the next day, and Nicole forgot to remember she wasn’t eating them anymore.

“Well, I’ll see what I can do about sending people down here,” she promises. “Maybe move them out of the nacho line.”

“Which means more room for me,” Champ mutters.

Nicole glares at him. She claps her hand down on his shoulder, hard, and squeezes just a little. “Champ and I are going to go take a walk around, but we’ll see you later, Stan.”

Stan smiles wide. “Thank you, Officer.” His smile dims a little as he looks at Champ. “Mr. Hardy.”

Nicole moves forward, Champ resisting the movement for a minute. As soon as they get around the corner of the pretzel cart, Nicole drops her hand, wiping it on her pants leg.

Champ rubs at his shoulder. “What are you? The Hulk?”

Nicole snorts softly. “He-Man,” she says under her breath. “Listen. This isn’t a something you’re going to scratch up. We have an important job to do, and-”

“ _ Important job _ ,” Champ repeats. He scoffs. “We’re getting into the Fair for free, to walk around and make sure no middle school punks make off with a prize they didn’t win.”

Nicole opens her mouth to argue back; to tell Champ that when she compiled all the data on crime at the Fair, the majority of offenders, those caught and those who evaded arrest, had been men in their mid-20s, stealing petty cash from food carts. Champ wouldn’t appreciate it, though, and so she closes her mouth and shakes her head.

“We’re basically babysitters,” he continues. “And I don’t even get a gun.”

Nicole shudders at the thought. “It’s an important job,” she repeats. “And we’re going to do it to my standard.”

Right now, she wants to take one of Nedley’s speeches about being a leader and shove it up his-

“You sound like Ms. Lucado,” Champ mutters, interrupting her train of thought. “This is your final project and we’re doing it to  _ my standard _ , or you won’t graduate” he mocks. “I showed her, didn’t I?” He reaches out towards a cinderblock, pushing it out of place.

Nicole sighs and pushes it back into place. “Don’t touch.”

She takes a deep, steadying breath. She just needs to take Champ on a patrol of the area and point out some of the weak spots she noticed last night. There’s a gap between the nachos and the hot dogs carts where the shadows swallow up most of the space. Valdez had tested it out the night before, and Nicole didn’t even see her lurking behind the hot dog cash register. It might be daytime now, but she’s not letting any attention to detail to slide.

_ Especially _ with Champ as her ‘partner.’

She straightens up a little bit and tries to think: What Would Nedley Do?  _ He’d probably kick Champ’s ass, if the stories about him are true _ , she thinks. She shakes her head and changes her thought: What Would Sheriff Nedley Do? She sighs.  _ He would teach Champ everything he knew. He would show him the weak spots and point out preventative measures and tell him a story about what it means to be a patron of justice _ .

So Nicole sighs and nods towards the line of food vendors. “Okay, let me break this down for you,” she starts.

She tells him the layout: Stan the Pretzel Man is on their immediate right, followed by a pizza cart, hot dogs, a beverage cart that doesn’t sell beer, a beverage cart that does, John David and his nachos, another hot dog cart, and fried dough. On their left is: another pizza cart, a sausage vendor, a beer cart, a guy selling french fries, a frozen drinks cart, a taffy cart, and a cotton candy cart. Past that, there’s three tents where people can sit down and eat their food.

They walk up and down the lines, stopping at each cart to say hi, and so she can tell Champ the things she picked up last night. Nicole points out the large gap between John David’s cart and Richard’s, the hot dog vendor.

“A man was loitering around here last night, real interested in the way John David would take the money and shove it into that bucket there before he rang up a handful of sales,” Nicole explains. She makes a mental note to talk to him about being more careful with his profits.

“A man was what?” Champ asks.

“Loitering,” Nicole repeats. She pauses at the blank look on Champ’s face. “Hanging around. Staying in one place.”

“Okay, okay,” Champ says, rolling his eyes. “Spare me the spelling lesson.”

“It’s a  _ vocabulary _ lesson,” Nicole mutters.

Champ waves a hand at her dismissively. “Whatever. I’m  _ done _ with school,” he reminds her.

“You asked,” she says. She takes another deep breath. “Listen, the Fair is going to open in fifteen minutes. Can we  _ please _ just get this done so we can be ready?” Her voice wavers, just shy of pleading, but she manages to keep it calm and controlled.

Champ sighs heavily. “Fine. Whatever. Lead the way, Joanie.”

Nicole ignores him and keeps walking down the line. She shows Champ where the emergency fire extinguishers are; she convinced Nedley that while all the booths are supposed to have their own, it can’t hurt for the Sheriff’s Department to have their own on hand, in case a vendor can’t get theirs to work. She points out Leslie, the woman who makes the best fried dough Nicole has ever had. Nicole had talked to her last night; she drives down from Edmonton every year for the Purgatory County Fair.

“Where’s your partner?” Leslie asks, leaning around Niole and Champ.

Nicole smiles softly. “Valdez? She’s not helping out today.”

Leslie’s shoulders drop, disappointment clear in her eyes. “Oh.”

Champ puffs his chest out, leaning one elbow down on the cart. “I’m Champ,” he says, his voice dropping an octave.

“You’re in my cheese,” Leslie says flatly.

Champ smirks. “Well, not yet, but-”

Leslie points. “You’re in my cheese,” she repeats, trying to pull the plate of shaker cheese out from under Champ’s elbow. “Now I need to open a whole new jar.”

Champ straightens up, wiping cheese off his elbow. “Cool down,” he grumbles.

Nicole fights a smile, rubbing at the back of her neck instead. “I can let her know you were asking after her,” she offers Leslie.

Leslie brightens up a little. “Yeah, that’d be…” She trails off, slowing herself down. “Sure. If you want.”

Nicole grins this time, nodding. “I will.”

“Are you working this side of the Fair?” Leslie asks.

“With me,” Champ says quickly, cutting in. “We’re partners for the day.”

When Champ turns his head, grinning at Leslie, Nicole rolls her eyes.

Leslie looks at her expectantly, some pity in her eyes.

Nicole nods again. “All day today,” she says.

Leslie smiles at her. “Well, you be sure to stop by and get some fried dough. On me,” she adds.

Nicole smiles back. “That’d be clutch.”

“Really ace,” Champ chimes in.

Leslie’s smile fades again, her lips pressing together in a thin line. “Sure.”

Nicole claps her hand down on Champ’s shoulder again. “Well, we better keep going,” she says, starting to steer him in the opposite direction. “We’ll be sure to stop by later, okay?”

“Looking forward to it, Officer Haught,” Leslie calls, dumping the plate of wasted shaker cheese into the trash barrel near her. She grabs another bottle of shaker cheese, opens it, and dumps it onto a fresh plate. She puts it back up on the cart edge, next to the bottle of sauce already there.

Nicole keeps nudging Champ forward. “We’re here to  _ work _ , not flirt,” she tells him firmly.

Champ rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue with her.

She shows him the rest of the area they’re charged with patrolling: in addition to the food tents and carts, they’re also responsible for the stretch of grass and pathway leading to the rides. Lonnie and Pine are taking that area, from the Ferris Wheel to the house of mirrors, but Nedley tasked her with the overlap. Last night it hadn’t felt like much - an extra 100 feet of space filled mostly with teenagers making out on the benches and fair workers taking their cigarette breaks. With Champ at her heels, though, it feels like double the work.

“What time are we stuck here until again?” Champ asks, kicking at another ground-level electrical box.

“Stop doing that,” Nicole scolds. “We’re on shift until 4. Then Landry and Kevin Martel take over.”

Champ snorts. “Martel is a chump. He thinks he’s so flash, wearing his ‘security’ shirt all the time. Even when he’s not at work.”

Nicole’s eyes narrow. Kevin Martel is a good guy, if a little dim. He tries hard, and even though he never passed the preliminary law enforcement exam, he keeps trying.

“Some of us take our jobs seriously,” she finally says, doing her best to keep her voice even.

Champ snorts again. “Some of you are tightwads.” He spreads his arms wide. “It’s a  _ Fair _ . How hard can ‘patrolling the area’ even be?” He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to enjoy free parking, get that fried dough babe’s number, and score some tickets to ride that zero gravity spinner they got.”

Nicole looks towards the rides. Just past the Ferris Wheel is the Gravitron, a ride they brought to the Purgatory Country Fair for the first time last year. Waverly had convinced her to try it on Thursday night. Her stomach turns uncomfortably, remembering the feeling of being pushed back into the padded panel, unable to move forward.

“I really don’t want to,” she had said nervously, her eyes stuck on the Gravitron spinning around and around. She could hear the people inside of it screaming gleefully.

Waverly wound her fingers into the fabric of Nicole’s t-shirt, her knuckles brushing against the bare skin of Nicole’s stomach. “Baby,” she tried, looking up at Nicole through her eyelashes.

Nicole tried to backup a few steps, but Waverly dug her feet into the soft grass. “Come on, Waves. It looks-”

“ _Bitchin’_ ,” Wynonna breathed next to her, their shoulders brushing. She pointed a finger at the Gravitron. “I want to be on that thing _right_ _now_.”

Nicole looked down at Waverly. “See? Take Wynonna.”

“I want  _ you _ to go on it with me,” Waverly said. “You can hold my hand.”

“I’ll hold your hair back when you get off it and puke,” Nicole offered. “How about that?”

“Oh, come on, Loverboy,” Mercedes teased as she walked past Nicole and Waverly, dragging a grinning Nathan behind her. They joined the growing line, Mercedes pressing up onto her toes to whisper into Nathan’s ear. Rosita trailed along after them, a silk blue crop top barely covering anything.

_ Madonna wore it first, but she didn’t wear it better _ , Rosita had said.

Chrissy bounced on the tips of her toes, stepping forward behind Mercedes. She crooked her finger and gestured at Perry. “I want to try it.”

Perry shrugged. “How bad can it be?”

Nicole opened her mouth, but Wynonna beat her to it.

“Don’t ask Officer Safety over here,” Wynonna said, smirking. “She probably read the manual.”

“There isn’t a manual,” Nicole said, scowling. She paused for a second. “Though, it  _ does _ reach 24 rpm in  _ less _ than 20 seconds, and-” She stopped herself when she saw Wynonna roll her eyes. “ _ What? _ I wanted to be prepared for when one of you snaps your neck.”

Wynonna flipped her off, sliding into line behind Perry and Chrissy. “Just get over it and come on. Doc, too.”

Doc took his hat off, holding it against his chest. “I do believe I’ll sit this one out.”

Wynonna groaned. “Don’t be a hoser.”

“I’m being intelligent, like Nicole here.”

“You’re being a bag.”

Doc shrugged, putting his hat back on. “Then I shall be a bag with all of my limbs intact.”

Waverly traced a line along Nicole’s hipbone, pulling her attention back down. “You don’t want to be a bag, do you?”

“I want all my limbs intact,” Nicole argued.

“If you lose one, you can be the next  _ Terminator _ ,” Waverly fired back.

Nicole frowned. “Cyborgs can’t be cops.”

Waverly sighed. “Please? Just one ride. And then we’ll go do the bumper cars, or the big slide,” she offered. “ _ Or _ I’ll even let you take me over to the games and show off.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “You can swing the hammer down and try to ring the bell. Win me a prize?”

Nicole snorted and draped her arms on Waverly’s shoulders, letting her hands lace behind Waverly’s neck. “I  _ am _ your prize.”

“And  _ I _ am gagging,” Wynonna called out. “Just get in line or I’ll make Waverly hold you down while I take Pussy Wagon through that automated car wash on Elm Street.”

Nicole made a face. “Don’t call my car that.”

“Why?” Wynonna asked. “That’s its name.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Remember, that one time, that you lost a bet, but  _ still _ got kissed by-”

“And don’t joke about that place,” Nicole said loudly. “It stripped the paint right off of my mom’s station wagon.”

Wynonna grinned. “Then you don’t want me to bring P-Dub through there, do you?”

“Are you threatening an officer of the law?” Nicole asked.

Wynonna snorted. “No. I’m threatening my best friend.”

Nicole deflated slightly. “Well-”

“So  _ come on _ , you hoser.”

Waverly bit her bottom lip hopefully. “Please, baby?”

Wynonna pushed out her own bottom lip. “ _ Please _ , baby?” she mocked.

Nicole looked around hopelessly. “Why can’t you guys bug Jeremy and Dolls?”

Wynonna shrugged. “I think they’re making out on the Ferris Wheel by now.”

“One ride?” Waverly asked again. “Just  _ one _ ride.”

Nicole stared her for a moment, before sighing. “Just  _ one _ ,” she vowed. “And after that, we’re-”

Wynonna whooped, jumping out of line and hugging her around the neck. “Come flash your badge so we can skip ahead in line.”

“Wynonna,” Nicole warned.

Wynonna waved her away. “Oh, don’t tell me you don’t have it.”

“I don’t wear it all the time,” Nicole fibbed. She could feel her badge through the leather of her wallet, shoved in her back pocket.

_ Never be without it _ , Nedley had told her.  _ Now that you have it, you’re Officer Haught first and Nicole second. _

Wynonna snorted. “Sure you don’t.”

Champ snaps his fingers in her face. “Yo. Quit being a space cadet, would you?”

Nicole swats at his hand, eyes narrowed. She checks her watch and winces. “Any last questions? The gates open in one minute.”

Champ squints across the fairgrounds, working his bottom lip between his teeth as he thinks. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Do you think ‘ _ you’re in my cheese _ ’ is code for-”

Nicole turns on her heels and stomps away before Champ can finish his question, adjusting her belt and retucking in her shirt. She can hear him jogging after her.

“I wasn’t finished with my question,” he complains.

“I was done listening,” Nicole fires back.

She scans the fairgrounds and catches Pine’s eye, flashing him a thumbs up to let her know that she’s ready. She looks down at her watch, counting as the seconds tick away.  _ 56, 57, 58, 59, 1000 _ , she thinks.

Like magic, the fairgrounds come to life. Hot neon hums in the cool tubes, fryers kick on, games start up. She can hear  _ zips _ and  _ zooms _ and the music from the merry-go-round in the southeast corner. The Wild Mouse coaster makes a large clacking noise as the car locks into the track. Stan starts yelling about pretzels as the turnstiles click open. She can hear the sound of cars braking in the parking lot, young parents with kids who have afternoon naptimes trying to get the Fair in early. The Ferris Wheel starts up, empty cars swinging gently as they go around in circles.

If she closes her eyes, she can imagine she’s little again, holding onto her dad’s hand tightly, afraid of the big kids stomping around her as she tries to take everything in at once.

Champ claps his hands together next to her, too loudly, shattering the memory. It sounds just like her dad slamming the driver’s door of his 1972 Ford LTD 4-door right before he pulled out of the driveway and never came back.

She steps back and scowls at him. “You take the left side. I’ll take the right,” she instructs, trying to figure out the best way to keep Champ away from Leslie. “We’ll patrol for an hour and then meet to switch.”

Champ shrugs. “Whatever you say, Five-O.”

Nicole moves in front of him before he can start walking. “Listen to me. For today,  _ you… _ ” She struggles to even say the words. “You are Five-O,  _ too _ . Do you understand me?”

Champ starts to roll his eyes, his mouth opening.

“No,” Nicole says sharply. “You listen to me Champ Hardy, and you listen like I’m Rebecca Gayheart trying to sell you Noxzema cream.”

Champ’s eyes widen. He blinks once.

“For today, for the next 6 hours, you are an extension of  _ me _ ,” she breathes out. “And  _ I _ am a professional. I am friendly. I am going to be  _ Sheriff _ one day, and so  _ you _ need to act like it.”

Champ nearly scoffs. “Like  _ you’re _ going to be Sher-”

Nicole’s back teeth grind down and her eyes narrow. “Nedley told me that being a leader is about lifting the people around you up so they can do the best job possible, but if you make a fool out of me,” she starts to threaten. She pauses for a second, Nedley’s voice in her head.

_ Being a leader isn’t about condemning people who can’t carry their own weight _ , he said.

She sucks in a shaky breath, taking a step back. “Just…  _ try _ , okay? I know you’ve never had to try at anything before, but…” She trails off. Champ never  _ has _ had to try at anything - football came easy to him and the rodeo came easier. Maybe she’s asking too much.

Still, she rolls her lips in, wets them, and breathes out her request. “But  _ try _ .”

Champ nods slowly.

Nicole takes another step back. “Okay. Clutch.” She stops for a moment. “You’re going to need a different shirt.”

Champ looks down, pulling at the hem of his Black Flag shirt. “What’s wrong with this?”

“ _ Everything _ ,” Nicole breathes out. She holds up her hands. “Just wait right here. Don’t… don’t  _ touch _ anything, okay?”

She walks backwards to her cruiser, only turning when her hip bounces off the trunk. She pops it open, digging through a case of Orange Crush, a few white shirts in airtight plastic bags, and a loose emergency flannel. Underneath it all, is a couple of extra ‘Purgatory Sheriff’s Department’ shirts she keeps on hand, to pass out at Community Days, or like that time she took Waverly and Styx down towards Moose Lake and they forget to bring a towel for Styx; they put the shirt on him and looped the arms around his front legs and he curled up in the passenger seat and slept the whole ride home.

She takes one of those shirts out now, checking the tag to make sure it’ll fit Champ. She finds one that says XL and slams her trunk closed. Champ is in the same spot as where she left him, his hands in his pockets and his eyes on Leslie.

“Think I got a chance?” he asks her, taking the shirt out of her hands. He doesn’t bother trying to find the bathroom; he takes off his Black Flag shirt and tucks it into his back pocket.

Nicole fights back another wave of vomit. “About as much of a chance as you’d have with me,” she mutters.

Champ’s head pops out of the neck of the PSD shirt. “What?”

“Nothing,” Nicole says quickly. “Don’t forget what I said.”

Champ rolls his eyes. “Like I could forget. You’ve told me a hundred times.”

Nicole thinks about arguing with him, but decides against it. She turns and marches towards her side of the food area, her hands on her belt as she walks, thumbs tucked just under the waistline of her pants. She stops to talk to Stan again, leaning on one side of the counter while kids run up and down the grass stretch, too excited to decide on what to eat. She helps Stan pass out a few free samples, kneeling in the grass to give a bite to Michael Ryan’s toddler. She hardly cares about the early morning dew soaking through the knee of her pants, laughing at something Michael says.

Across the space, she can see Champ smoothing one hand down the front of his shirt, the other through his hair. She watches him take a deep breath before sauntering towards the sausage vendor, eyes locked on the woman manning the counter.

“Waverly and  _ Due South _ and  _ Rolling Stone _ ,” she tells herself again. “Only…” She checks her watch. “Only 5 hours and 30 minutes and then it’s Waverly and  _ Due South _ and  _ Rolling Stone _ .”

She moves down the line, stopping at the first pizza stand. Valdez had known the two guys running it; they met on Wynonna and Valdez’s last run with the Banditos. Valdez had glared at them until they promised not to say anything about whatever Valdez did for them in Medicine Hat, but Nicole and Valdez each got a slice on the house as the Fair closed down.

Nicole spends the next hour going from vendor to vendor, checking in and scoping out their station. She walks the back of the carts and tents, pausing in the empty spaces between the spray-painted sections. She frowns, pulling out her notebook and flipping to a blank page.

_ Reconfigure food area to maximize space and security measures _ , she scribbles down. She chews on the end of her pen for a second. If they pushed the stalls and carts back against the fencing put up to delineate the boundaries of the Fair, they could decrease the potential for being  _ behind _ the stations and cut down the access to cash boxes and registers.

According to her research, 67% of criminal activity at the Fair directly related to stealing money from the food vendors.

“Not if I can help it,” she says quietly.

“You’re not Wonder Woman,” Wynonna had told her last week.

Nicole looked up from the file she was reading. “What?”

“You can’t stop bullets with your special wristbands or make criminals tell you everything with your Lasso of Truth,” Wynonna said. “You’re not going to stop all of the crime in Purgatory.”

Nicole shrugged. “Probably not. But that doesn’t mean I can’t prevent as much of it as I can,” she said firmly, putting tally marks in the ‘middle aged man’, ‘food tents,’ and ‘evaded capture’ columns of her data collection sheet.

She stops by Leslie’s fried dough cart, asking about the difference between fried dough and beaver tails.

“There isn’t one,” Leslie insists. “Beaver tails  _ are _ fried dough.”

Nicole shakes her head. “I went to that one in Banff once, a long time ago, and the way they made the beaver tails was way different.”

Leslie sighs, a smile on her face. “You’re delusional. I  _ grew up _ in Ottawa, practically next door to BeaverTails and trust me, this is the same thing.

Nicole opens her mouth to argue back when she hears a high-pitched whistle through the crowd.

“Dude,  _ bitchin _ ’ shirt,” someone says.

She turns around and sighs. Kyle and Pete York, each in their old letterman jackets, are bearing down on Champ, cutting across the grass in Nicole’s direction. Kyle’s hangs open, unable to close around his recent stomach expansion. Pete still has a football in his arm, his hair slicked back with enough grease to start a fire. Kyle jumps on Champ, nearly taking both of them to the ground, while Pete tosses the football up in the air, barely catching it before it hits the ground.

“Who did you bang to get this?” Kyle asks, plucking at the fabric.

Champ straightens up, puffing out his chest. “I earned it, you hoser.”

Kyle laughs. “Sure you did. I bet Nedley would piss himself before letting you become a cop.”

Champ scowls, balling his hand into a fist and socking Kyle in the arm.

Kyle winces, his body folding in at the contact. “What’s your beef, dude?”

“I could be a cop  _ if _ I wanted to be,” Champ mumbles. Nicole can barely hear him. “But I wanted to be in the rodeo.”

Kyle scoffs, rubbing at the spot on his arm where Champ hit him. His face is twisted in anger. “You joined the rodeo because you failed that preliminary law enforcement exam.”

Champ raises his fist again, and Nicole’s his tightens in frustration. She grabs for his shoulder.

“What?” Champ growls. He spins, his fist still in the air.

Nicole ducks to avoid being hit, straightening up and widening her stance. She looks Champ up and down, finally meeting his eyes. “What’s your beef?” she asks slowly.

Champ lowers his arm slowly. “Nothing.”

“Because it looked like you were about to start a fight. In a Purgatory Sheriff’s Department shirt,” she says slowly. She leans in, her voice dropping low. “When Nedley is with Mayor Hamilton about 20 meters away from here.”

Champ straightens up a little, his cheeks flushing. “I, uh, wasn’t going to hit him.”

“Well, if it isn’t High and Haughty,” Kyle mutters.

Nicole’s eyes snap to Kyle. “I don’t have-”

“There she is,” a voice says from behind her.

Nicole turns quickly, a smile instantly on her face. “Mr. Mayor. Sheriff.”

Nedley nods sharply at her, just a step behind Mayor Hamilton. His eyes skate past Nicole to Kyle and Pete. Nicole looks over her shoulder just as they turn and duck out of sight, headed towards the beer vendor.

“Our rising star,” Hamilton continues. He turns back to Nedley. “Aren’t we lucky we managed to keep this one from the thrills and chills of the big city?”

Nedley forces a smile. “Absolutely, Mr. Mayor.”

Hamilton’s eyes light up as they land on Champ. He practically shoulders past Nicole, reaching out to grab Champ by the arm and tug him closer. “Extra lucky when you remember we lost real talent like Mr. Hardy over here to the roar and lights,” he says, squeezing Champ’s shoulder sympathetically. “How is the knee, son?”

Champ shrugs, his face the picture of regret. “Hurts when it rains, sir.”

“That’s just a head start on what me and Randy here are going through.” Hamilton nods.

_ The real talent _ , Nicole thinks to herself. She tries hard not to roll her eyes.

Nedley makes a face over Hamilton’s shoulder. “Mr. Mayor, have you heard of Officer Haught’s initiative to form an inter-department task force?”

Hamilton tips his head to the side as he thinks. “I believe I remember my assistant mentioning something along those lines.” He looks expectantly at Nedley.

Nedley nods in Nicole’s direction. “Go ahead, Officer.”

Nicole straightens up a little. “Well, sir,” she starts, her throat dry. She swallows but it doesn’t help. “We would form a committee made up of town employees that would meet monthly and address Purgatory-wide issues. We would hold open-forum meetings to let the public make requests, speak about needs they see in town, and to offer suggestions on how we operate.” Hamilton continues to look at her with narrowed eyes. “And the other departments?”

“I’ve already talked to Fire Chief Carlo and he’s on board,” Nicole say confidently. “I’d want a representative from every department in the town.”

Hamilton snorts. “That’s quite a few offices.”

“The Fire Department,” Nicole repeats, scanning the list quickly in her head. “The Treasurer’s Office, the School Department, Municipal Works, though I’d want someone specifically from the Parks and Recreation department as well, the Health Department.” She pauses, taking in a breath. “Also, someone from the Clerk’s Office, the Transit Department, and the Senior Services.”

The smirk on Hamilton’s face fades. He shifts to face Nicole, giving her his full attention. He looks her up and down. “That’s a big undertaking, Officer Haught,” he says, his voice low and serious.

Nicole meets his eyes, holding her chin high and steady. “I drafted this proposal already knowing that, sir.”

“And you’re prepared for that endeavor,” he asks.

Nicole swallows, wetting her lips. “Yes, Mr. Mayor.”

Hamilton glances at Nedley. Nedley nods, a sharp and short motion. Hamilton looks back at Nicole, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Call my office on Monday, would you? Tell Sharon to put you right through to me and you can tell me more about this.”

Nicole wrinkles her nose at the mention of Sharon Coulter. She hates talking to Sharon. It’s always a pain to call her and ask a question. Every insignificant phone call turns into a twenty minute lecture on how Sharon isn’t the Mayor, but she’s got an opinion anyway. The guys at the station call her  _ The Keeper of the Keys _ ; she’s been the secretary to the mayor’s office for over 50 years now.

“We went to school together,” Linda had told Nicole when Nicole first started sweeping the stations, back in high school. “From those first years all the way up to our high school graduation.”

“Really?” Nicole asked, voice full of awe. She just watched Mayor Hamilton and Sharon leave Nedley’s office, the Mayor barking orders at Sharon like he was throwing fastball after fastball. Nicole had stood in the middle of the bullpen, her broom in one hand, wondering how anyone could remember so much information like that.  _ Waverly does, too _ , was Nicole’s next thought.  _ And you will need to if you want to be a cop _ , was her third.

Linda sneered. “Wore button-down wrap skirts just like the rest of us,” she said. “Switched to rayon stockings when nylon went scarce. But  _ no _ , she told everyone they were nylon to make it seem like her daddy had money.”

Nicole weaved through the bullpen, sweeping a path ahead of her. She stared longingly at the row of desks, wondering how long it would be until she got her own nameplate, her own chair, her own badge.

“When Mayor Ramaker was elected to office, he was splitting up with his wife. Unofficially, I mean,” Linda continued. She leaned forward towards Nicole, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Rumor was, the Mayor dropped the previous secretary, Mrs. Moulton, in favor of someone younger and prettier to look at.”

“So he hired Sharon Coulter?” Nicole guessed.

“And she hasn’t let anyone forget it since,” Linda said, rolling her eyes. “Thinks because she sits behind a desk in that office, she’s the be-all and end-all of Purgatory.” Linda snorted. “Well, our desks were made from the same pine tree, so that makes her just as good as I am.”

“You are,” Nicole said, her cheeks flushing when she realized she spoke out loud. She took a deep breath and decided to keep going. “I know you work extra hours just to talk to me,” she admitted. “I overheard the Sheriff telling you to go easy.”

Linda waved a hand dismissively. “I’m fine. If I want to work a little extra, it’s my own choice.”

“I know that,” Nicole said quickly. “It’s just… You talk to me about the day to day stuff here, and it’s… It’s helpful. For when I’m a real cop.”

“And when will that be?”

Nicole shrugged. “I’m only a junior right now. I have to finish school and then I’ll go into the academy.” Nicole looked down at the pile she was absently moving in circles. “But I’ll be good at it, because you’re helping me. With the codes and how you told me to watch Lonnie work and do the opposite.”

Linda softened a little. “Well, that’s real nice of you, honey.”

Nicole smiled. “Anyway, I better go check the trashes. But I just want you to know that Sharon had a run in her nylons, just above the back of her knee. So…” Nicole shrugged. “She’s not all that great.”

“I’d like to make some requests about who you approach,” Hamilton continues. “Namely, I don’t want Simard in Transit anywhere near this if Lucy Tremblay from the School Department is involved. Simard’s wife would make those open-forum meetings hell,” he jokes. “We can talk personnel, alright?”

“For sure,” Nicole breathes out. “I mean.  _ Yes _ . Yes, sir. Monday morning.”

Hamilton offers his hand. “I look forward to it.”

Nicole looks down for a moment before she reaches out, taking Hamilton’s hand and shaking it. “Thank you, sir.”

Hamilton looks at Nedley. “Let’s go, Randy. I promised Sharon I’d bring back some of that fried dough she likes so much.”

Nedley nods at her again, his moustache twitching a little as he fights a smile. “I’ll swing by a little later,” he tells Nicole. “Check in and see how things are.’

Nicole looks over her shoulder at Champ, and then back at Nedley. “Yes, sir.”

Nicole watches Nedley and Hamilton weave through the crowd, listening to Hamilton’s ‘Mayor’ voice boom as he shakes hands and pats kids on the top of the head. For a moment, she wishes she carried that Nokia 1011 that Wynonna bought her for birthday last year, so she could call Waverly and tell her that  _ the Mayor _ wants to her to call on Monday morning and talk about  _ her _ task force idea.

“When we got into the Alberta Bowl Provincial Finals, he told me he was going to put our picture on the ‘ _ Welcome’ _ sign,” Champ says loudly.

Nicole raises an eyebrow, her mind pulling up the old ‘ _ Welcome to Purgatory’ _ sign out on the highway, the one with the cartoon family of four painted across it. She can’t even argue that putting Pete York up there wouldn’t be an improvement, but she also can’t believe Hamilton told Champ that.

“Obviously, he didn’t,” Champ continues. “I mean, we didn’t win.” Champ’s voice fades off, a faraway look in his eyes. “Pete didn’t make it down the field in time for my throw and we lost in the last two minutes of the game and the Comp Miners from Fort McMurray ended up winning the entire Bowl. We were  _ 120 seconds _ from winning, but…” Champ shakes his head. “But Hamilton said he was going to.” He lowers his shoulder and sticks out his arm, mimicking the Heisman Trophy pose. Champ sighs. “Imagine all the babes that would have moved in if my mug was on the ‘ _ Welcome _ ’ sign.”

_ Imagine how many people would move here if Waverly’s face was on that sign _ , Nicole thinks.

She shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders at Champ. “The team isn’t that bad this year,” she says politely.

Champ snorts, rolling his eyes. “That Thompson kid doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting the team to the Bowl this year.”

Nicole feels a flare of irritation shoot through her. “Benji is a decent quarterback.”

“He’s no Champ Hardy,” Champ argues.

“Aren’t we lucky for that,” Nicole mutters. She cuts Champ off before he can open his mouth and ask what she said. “We’ll switch sides and you can patrol the right. I’ll take the left.”

“Your left or my left.”

Nicole sighs. “My left.”

Champ frowns. “Which side is that?”

“It’s the…” Nicole scratches at the back of her neck and takes a deep breath.  _ Waverly and Styx and Due South and Rolling Stone,  _ she thinks. She points towards Stan’s pretzel cart. “That side. Go to that side and keep people out of trouble.”

Champ scoffs. “What? Like it’s hard?”

Nicole stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “And don’t fool around with Kyle and Pete,” she warns. “You’re doing a job for the Purgatory Sheriff’s Department and they’re drinking before noon. Don’t be an airhead.”

“Whatever,” Champ mutters, shouldering through the crowd towards Leslie’s fried dough cart.

Nicole busies herself with the other side of the vendor area. As she’s passing by the frozen drinks, she looks up and to the side, checking the empty spot between John David’s nachos and Richard, the hot dog vendor. She looks away, but stops, her head turning slowly back across the lane.

It’s the same guy from the night before: between 5’ 11” and 6’ 1”; blonde hair; a pair of L.A. Gear Regulators on his feet - the ones with the neon orange and dark blue laces that Waverly wants; a red, white, and blue 1990 League sweatshirt with ‘52’ on one sleeve and a U.S.A. flag on the other; glasses. She hasn’t been able to get a good look at his face - the night before it was too dark. Today, he has his head down, angled away.

_ Almost like he knows I’m looking at him _ , Nicole thinks.

As soon as she sees him, the moving crowd swallows him up again. A kid with a neon-colored blue raspberry Slush Puppie runs by her, just barely dodging her in time to avoid a collision. She looks down and scowls, but when she looks up, the man is gone.

Nicole spins in every direction, scanning the crowd again.

She sees someone slipping behind John David’s cart -  a flash of blond hair and a white top. Her heart hammers in her chest as she tries to politely sidestep Frida Dube, one of The Patch regulars.

“Officer Haught-”

“Excuse me,” she says firmly, moving around Frida, her hand on her holster. She makes it across the grass, eyes trying to catalogue everything she can about John David’s cart: there’s globs of nacho cheese on the metal counter, a plate of nachos cooling quickly next to them, a tip jar. John David is leaning across the counter, his elbow in a cheese clump, as he talks to someone in line.

Nicole takes a deep breath and presses herself close against John David’s cart, feeling the sun-warm aluminum through her uniform shirt. She unbuckles the small leather strap over the grip of her service weapon. She takes another deep breath and slips around the side of the cart where she saw the man go.

It’s empty.

The cart muffles most of the noise from the food area. She can hear the hum of the fries back here, and taste the grease lingering in the air. A soft mid-morning breeze drifts through the trees and against her face. Nothing else moves, though. There’s nothing but a few trees back here and they’re not big enough for someone to be hiding behind. She kneels down, but the ground isn’t soft enough to show if someone had walked back here. She stands up, sighing.

Nedley’s voice is in her head, telling her to be  _ smart _ ; to be  _ thorough _ .

Her hand pauses, halfway to rebuckling the lather strap over the grip. She leaves it undone and moves past John David’s cart, towards the drinks cart next to him. She keeps going, past the next beverage stand, hot dogs, pizza, and finally coming out next to Stan the Pretzel Man.

“Officer Haught,” Stan says, smiling.

Nicole smiles back, distracted. She makes a mental note to let Landry and Martel know about this. She’ll write down her description for Landry; he does better with written information anyway. She slides her notebook out of her pocket, opens it to an empty page, and starts to write down her description.

_ Male, mid- to late-20’s, Caucasian,  _ she scribbles.  _ Between 5’ 11” and 6’ 1”, blond hair, glasses. Blue jeans, L.A. Gear Regulators with neon orange/dark blue laces. White, red, and blue sweatshirt. ‘52’ on one sleeve, U.S.A. flag on the other. _

There had been something familiar about him that Nicole can’t quite put her finger on. Something about the hunch of his shoulders and the tilt of his head. She chews on her thumbnail for a second before a voice in her head that sounds an awful lot like Waverly starts lecturing her biting her nails.

“Pretzel?” Stan offers.

Nicole blinks a few times before his words register. She flips her notebook closed and tucks it back into her pocket. “No, thank you,” she says kindly. “I’m on duty.”

Stan’s smile falters. “I probably shouldn’t have given your partner one, then, should I?”

Nicole scowls for a second. “He shouldn’t have accepted your offer.”

She looks over her shoulder, trying to find Champ. She finally spots him hanging around the beer cart with Kyle and Pete. She grinds her back teeth together, exhaling slowly through her nose and clenching her fists. Hamilton has moved on towards the rides; she can see the back of his trademark banded-collar shirt in the distance. She feels her jaw tighten and she turns neatly on her heel. Her Oxford sinks into the grass for a second and she sticks in place.

She unsticks her foot and starts moving towards him.

Cecil Wright, Jr. steps in front of her, nearly crashing into her. “Officer Haught!” he says shrilly. 

Nicole pulls back, her heart racing in her chest. “Mr. Wright,” she breathes out.

He gives her an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Nicole waves him away. “Don’t worry about it. What can I do for you, Mr. Wright?”

“Please,” he says. “Call me Junior. Mr. Wright was my grandfather.”

“What can I do for you… Junior?” Nicole repeats, the word clunky and unfamiliar in her mouth. 

Cecil sighs. “The Patch is closed.”

Nicole frowns, her head tipped to the side. “I’m sorry?”

“Every year during the Fair, The Patch closes. I know that Gus McCready usually goes out of town that week, just like she did when Curtis was alive,” Cecil continues.

Nicole nearly flinches. She hates when people use his name so casually, like they don’t understand the weight of it. She can’t stand the way they toss it into a conversation like the word  _ totally _ , inconsequential and thoughtless. 

Champ steals the football from Pete, jogging towards her down the lane. He jukes around a family ordering hot dogs, weaving in between the line at the pizza cart. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wri-  _ Junior _ , but...” Nicole says, her hand resting on Cecil’s shoulder. She trails off as she watches Champ twist and throw, tossing the football into a long arc above the crowds. 

A few kids jump up and point, shouting excitedly as the ball spins in a perfect spiral, landing easily in Kyle York’s hands. 

“I know that Earp girl, Wynonna, is taking over The Patch,” Cecil continues anyway.

“Someday,” Nicole says, distracted, looking at Champ.

Champ leans against Stan’s pretzel cart and winks at a girl in a Purgatory High School Class of 1992 sweatshirt. Nicole watches him puff his chest out and let his hand fall between them, his high school ring glinting in the sunlight.

“Soon,” Nicole says quickly. “I mean, Wynonna is going to school so she can help out at The Patch, but Gus is still very much the owner,” she corrects. She frowns. “Why?”

“I used to work at Purgatory Bank and Loan, you know,” Cecil says. “The Patch must be losing money by closing during Fair weekend.”

Nicole gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Honestly, Junior, I’m not sure.”

She looks back at Champ again and scowls. He’s leaning over the counter of Stan’s cart, reaching for a pretzel while Stan has his back turned, pulling a fresh one out of the fryer and salting it, hanging it up in the Nemco 2-Tier Warmer he has. 

Nicole feels a rage building in her chest. Champ is  _ stealing _ from Stan, wearing a shirt he didn’t earn. She wants to march across the grass and pull that shirt over his head like she’s Wendel Clark in the middle of trying to knock out Behn Wilson’s front teeth. 

Cecil sighs heavily, pulling her attention back around. “Honestly, Officer Haught, the truth is that no one makes coffee like Gus McCready, and I can’t drink the sludge they make down at the bakery.”

“I’m sorry about that, Junior,” she says, her voice faraway. “Listen, I’m sorry, but if you don’t mind, there’s something I need to-. 

A kid screams on the spinning swings. Someone wins a game, a loud bell ringing. The music from the House of Mirrors drifts in - a spooky laugh and a haunting piano track.

“Officer Haught!” Stan shouts. “Officer-”

Nicole spins, nearly losing her balance as the sun catches her in the eyes. She finds Stan’s pretzel cart quickly, sidestepping Cecil Wright, Jr. as she takes a few hard steps in the right direction. Stan is still behind his makeshift counter, holding a hand to his forehead.

“He took it!” Stan shouts, pointing with his other hand.

The man with the blond hair and the L.A. Gear Regulators is sprinting in the opposite direction, one hand tucked in close like he’s holding a football to his chest.

“My money!” Stan continues to shout. “He took it!”

Champ is standing in front of the cart, still holding a pretzel. His mouth is hanging open and his eyes are wide.

Nicole startles, her hand going to her shoulder walkie to call in the crime in progress. “This is Officer Haught,” she barks into her walkie. “We have a 10-31 in the west area of the Fair, near the vendor lanes. Blond, male, around 6’ with glasses, wearing  a white, red, and blue sweatshirt. He is heading towards the north gate. I am in pursuit,” she says, weaving through the crowd in a run.

“Copy,” she hears Diaz. “I’m approaching from the north.”

“Stan?” Nicole asks, pausing in front of the cart. She barely feels Champ brush against her shoulder. Instead, she focuses on Stan, eyeing the small trickle of blood running down his forehead.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Stan says, shaking his head. His eyes look disoriented, like he can’t focus on her. “I tripped, that’s all.”

Nicole pulls her walkie to her mouth again. “I need a medic at Stan’s Pretzel Cart,” she calls. She clips her walkie back onto her shoulder.

“Go,” Stan says. “ _ Go _ .”

Nicole doesn’t wait for him to say it a third time, shouldering Champ out of her way as she takes off after the suspect.

He’s quick and he has nearly thirty meters on her. The ground is uneven - grass broken up by patches of dirt and chunks of rocks sticking up out of the earth. Her Oxford slips against one of the rocks and her knee nearly buckles underneath her.

“Stop!” she shouts. “I am an Officer of the Purgatory Sheriff’s Department! Stop!”

The man keeps running, zig-zagging to try and throw her off.

She sees the fence in the distance.  _ If he gets that far, _ she reasons,  _ he’ll have enough height to jump it.  _ She thinks quickly: if the man jumps the fence, she’ll lose him in the woods bordering the fairgrounds. She thinks about Stan, stunned and bleeding in his pretzel cart, and she lowers her shoulder, her legs pumping.

“Stop!” she yells again.

The man barely looks back over his shoulder, but the top of his toe catches on a rock and he stumbles a few steps. It’s barely a meter, but it’s enough for Nicole to close the gap. She can feel her body protesting every stride, but she leans into the pain. She can almost touch him, just another meter…

She jumps without meaning to, her arms going around his upper body. The metal money box drops out of his hands and Nicole’s added weight brings him crashing to the ground.

They go sliding across the grass, Nicole gripping the man’s shirt tightly to keep him from getting away. She sucks in a ragged breath, trying to force air into her lungs. The man tries to crawl away, but Nicole keeps him pinned, making sure she has a good grip on his white, red, and blue sweatshirt.

She turns the man over, her knees on either side of his body. “ _ Tucker _ ,” Nicole pants, eyes wide.

Tucker squirms in her hold. “Get  _ off _ me,” he growls.

Nicole frowns, looking between him and the money box a few feet away where it landed. She rolls through the description in her head:  _ Blond, male, around 6’ in a white, red, and blue sweatshirt, glasses _ . He matches it perfectly, down to the L.A. Gear Regulators with the neon orange and dark blue laces. She feels eight again, wrestling on the playground with Tucker while Wynonna cheers her on from the bottom of the slide and Waverly screams at her to stop.

Tucker tries to buck her off.

Nicole adjusts her grip on his wrists, holding him steady.  Using one leg in place of her hand, she fishes her handcuffs off her belt and wraps one cuff around his wrist. “Tucker Gardner, you are under arrest for Theft of property valuing less than $5,000, pursuant to the Canadian Criminal Code Section 334-B. Do you understand?”

“Whatever,” he spits.

“You have the right to retain and instruct counsel without delay,” she continues. “We will provide you with a toll-free telephone lawyer referral service, if you do not have your own lawyer. Anything you do say can and will be used in court as evidence. Do you understand?”  

Tucker sneers at her. “Do  _ you _ understand what my father will do when he finds out you’re  _ arresting _ me?”

Nicole narrows her eyes. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Gardner?”

Tucker scowls, his jaw clenched. He doesn’t say anything, though.

“Do you understand this as I have said it to you?” she repeats slowly.

Tucker nods silently.

Nicole kneels, the grass soaking through the fabric of her pants. “Would you like to speak to a lawyer?”

“No,” Tucker spits. “I want you to call my father.”

Nicole stands up, her hand still on one of Tucker’s arms. When she’s steady on her feet, she reaches down and helps him up. “We can do that from the station.” She takes the hand with the cuff attached and brings it behind his back. She can feel the tension in his arms as she brings his other hand around, slapping the cuff down and locking it.

She checks her watch for the time of arrest and decides to call it in before she heads back towards her car. She reaches for her shoulder walkie. “Dispatch, this is Haught.”

“Go ‘head, Haught,” Linda says.

“I’ve got one 10-95. I’ll be transporting him when I’m finished at the scene.”

There’s a second of silence before Linda comes back on the line. “10-4.”

Nicole hooks her walkie back on and nudges Tucker forward.

Landry comes jogging towards her. “Got him, Haught?”

Nicole frowns. “What’re you doing here?”

Landry shrugs. “The wife told me I had to stop watching the preseason hockey games because the kids want to learn to play and we don’t make enough money to put all of them in skates,” he says, setting down the bag he has on his shoulder. “I figured I’d pick Conlin’s brain about his season’s picks.” He shakes his head. “That guy always picks ‘em.”

Nicole nods like she understands what he’s saying.

“Anyway,” he says. “I figured you didn’t have a kit. I heard you on Conlin’s radio and grabbed his kit from his cruiser.” He gestures towards Tucker. “I’ll hold onto him while you get your details in order.”

Nicole smiles gratefully. She was just about to radio for backup - or at least for someone to grab her bag from her cruiser so she could catalogue the evidence. Instead, she nudges Tucker towards Landry and unzips the bag, taking out the Polaroid 660 Lightmixer and a pair of gloves. She carefully pulls the gloves over hands, opening the metal money box. She takes out the bills and coins, organizing them into piles and counting them out.

“How much?” Landry asks.

Nicole looks up. “$350.”

Landry snorts. “You’d make more sticking up The Patch.”

Nicole glares at him. “Don’t joke about that.”

Landry puts a hand up in surrender. Nicole puts all of the money back, peels her gloves off, writing down the total amount of money and the exact number of each bill in her notebook. She flips it closed and tucks it into her pocket.

“All set,” she says. “Thanks for this.”

Landry shrugs. “When I found out it was Stan…” He shakes his head. “I love those pretzels.”

Nicole glares pointedly at Tucker, taking him back and nudging him towards the lane. “Let’s go.”

“I think you sprained my ankle,” Tucker complains. 

Nicole studies his gait for a few feet, but he’s walking fine. She snorts. “I probably sprained your pride,” she mutters to herself.

Tucker tries to twist around to look at her. Nicole keeps pushing him forward, holding him up by the elbow when he drags his feet over a small rock sticking out of the ground. 

“You think you’re totally awesome because my sister is friends with you,” Tucker says. “Well,  _ you’re not _ .” He fights her hold, but she tightens her grip on his arm until he stops fidgeting. “Mercedes is the new favorite because she can sell  _ houses?  _ Well, when she marries your sorry excuse of a brother, she’ll see how quickly she goes back to being-”

Nicole loosens her grip on Tucker’s elbow as he drags his feet over the next rock and he stumbles forward, fear in his eyes as he tries to move his hands to the front of his body to stop his fall. Nicole grabs him at the last possible second, hauling him upright.

“You were saying?” she asks, her voice hard and low.

Tucker swallows heavily enough that his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He shakes his head. He’s quiet for the next hundred feet as the Fair gets louder, the noise of the crowd and the games and the music swallowing up anything Tucker mutters under his breath. They’re nearly at Stan’s pretzel cart when she hears Nedley.

“Hardy!” he shouts.

There’s a soft thud - Nicole is sure it’s Champ’s pretzel hitting the ground - and then Champ is clearing his throat, hawking back and spitting something out. 

“Sheriff!” Champ squeaks. 

“What happened?” Nedley asks, slightly out of breath. “I heard Haught call it in on Diaz’s radio.”

“It’s a 10-45,” Champ says confidently. “I was just cleaning up the mess Officer Haught left behind.” He raises his voice a little louder. “I’ll need some napkins to get this blood off the counter. Stan bled,” he explains.

Nedley is quiet for a moment. “Officer Haught called a  _ 10-31 _ ,” he finally says. “And blood should always be cleaned up with  _ gloves _ .”

Nicole snorts softly.

Tucker starts to jerk in her hold. “When my father hears about this,” he starts again.

Nicole glares at Tucker and he snaps his mouth shut.

“A 10-31,” Champ echoes. “Right. Right. Totally.”

“Which means she was in pursuit of a crime in progress,” Nedley says slowly. “ _ Not _ a dead animal.”

“Kyle and Pete deal with dead animals,” Champ says. “So, like, I totally knew that.” He laughs nervously. “I was testing you.”

“I don’t need to be  _ tested _ , Hardy. I’m the damn Sheriff,” Nedley says firmly. Nicole hears him sigh and the soft jingle of the keys on his belt as he adjusts his stance. “Can you identify the suspect?”

“I, uh, sir. I saw the dude and-and I can totally ID him if you put him in a lineup,” Champ says.

“In a  _ lineup _ ,” Nedley repeats. “Son, this isn’t  _ Law & Order _ . Did you get a look at the suspect or not?”

Champ doesn’t say anything for a second. “He had sneakers on,” he says quietly.

Nicole rolls her eyes and nudges Tucker forward, moving around the pretzel cart and stopping in front of Nedley. She looks down, stepping over Champ’s pretzel in the dirt. She hands Nedley the metal container of bills and coins. “I apprehended the suspect as he was headed towards the north side of the fairgrounds,” she explains. “He had that on him.” She nods at the metal box in Nedley’s hands.

Nedley opens it, looking down at the coins and bills for a second before looking back up. “Tucker Gardner.” He looks down and snorts. “Well, he has sneakers on.”

Champ’s cheeks flush red. “So, I was right?”

Nicole nearly rolls her eyes, but Nedley is staring at her. The corners of his lips twitch as he fights a smile. “I heard you over the walkie,” he says. “Clear, concise. Detailed.” He looks Tucker up and down. “Though, I’d say he’s on the shorter side of 6’,” Nedley says.

“People look taller when they’re running,” Nicole says defensively.

Nedley raises an eyebrow at her.

Champ leans forward, into her line of vision. He stares at her, his face twisted in confusion. “How did you… he had, like, a  _ whole _ football field on you.”

Nicole lifts an eyebrow. “I ran?”

“Did he  _ trip _ ?” Champ asks. “Because, like, in high school, Tucker was too much of a Joanie to play football, but he could always outrun Pete when we tried to take his lunch money.”

“I’m  _ right here _ , you Neanderthal,” Tucker growls. 

“I chased him,” Nicole says slowly. “And then I caught him.” She lowers her head, meeting his eyes. “It’s my  _ job _ .”

Champ stares at her, his mouth hanging open. “What did you… Did you  _ tackle  _ that guy?”

“What?” Nicole asks, her eyes sparkling. “Like it’s hard?”

Champ’s eyes widen. 

Nicole shakes her head, turning her attention back to Nedley. “I can take him down to the station and book him, sir,” Nicole says, scanning the small crowd gathered around them. “I’m sure Pine can cover this area while I do that.”

“Tucker Gardner,” Nedley says again, shaking his head. “Wait until your father hears about this one.” 

Tucker looks away.

Nedley turns to Nicole. “I was headed to the station anyway. I’ll take him in and you can finish out your shift here.”

Nicole nods sharply. “Yes, sir.”

“I’ll stop by the south entrance and have Valdez come down to patrol with you,” Nedley continues. “You know, I was watching her last night while she worked with you. You have a real talent for mentoring,” he says.

Nicole feels her face flush. “I’m learning from you, sir.”

Nedley snorts quietly. “You can’t teach talent, Haught. You’re born with it, or you’re not.” His eyes soften. “Curtis saw it, too.”

Something in Nicole’s stomach turns over in a way that it catches in her throat and makes it hard to breathe. She tries to say something, but the words won’t come out. She nods instead, ignoring the burn at the corner of her eyes.

Nedley politely ignores her. “Maybe you can use that talent and convince Valdez to go to the academy. ”

“I can’t convince her of much,” Nicole says. 

She thinks back to high school, trying to get Valdez to join her and Wynonna in their lab group in biology. Valdez had stabbed her 11" Switchblade Flick Knife with the skull and bones on it into the desk as her answer.  _ But maybe Wynonna can _ , Nicole thinks, smirking, making a note to talk to Wynonna about it.

Nedley’s eyes hardens as he looks at Champ. “You can head towards the rides, with Officers Pine and Stuckey.”

Champ frowns. “Who’s Officer Stuckey?”

“Lonnie,” Nicole says quickly, watching the irritation flare in Nedley’s eyes. She nudges Tucker forward. “That would be great, sir,” she says gratefully. “I’ll stop by the station after work and fill out the preliminary report.”

Nedley thinks about it for a minute and nods. “That should be fine. I’d expect a full report on Monday.” He looks sharply at Champ. “Get going, Hardy. And don’t stop to talk to those York boys on your way,” he warns. “I’ll be talking to Mr. Hebert about today.”

Champ scowls, but follows orders, storming through the crowd and disappearing behind the last food cart.

Nedley turns back to Nicole. “Full report on Monday work for you? Have you catalogued everything?”

“Of course, sir,” Nicole promises, letting Nedley take custody of Tucker. “I took pictures,” she says, handing him the baggie of Polaroids she has in her pocket. “And I wrote down all of the pertinent information. I’ll file a full report right after I follow up with Mrs. Dray on Monday.”

Nedley smiles, wide and genuine. It catches Nicole off-guard a little, but he claps her on the shoulder and squeezes gently. 

She’s thirteen again and standing in the front hall of the McCready house, and Curtis’s eyes are wide and honest and he’s telling her he’s  _ proud _ of who she and he’ll be proud of whoever she becomes. She’s ten and he’s talking about how good she did, getting Wynonna to try to swim for the first time. She’s fourteen and he’s trusting her to keep his girls on track.

“Now, when I say you’re on track to be a damn good Sheriff,  _ this _ is what I’m talking about,” Nedley says quietly.

Nicole tips her head, confused.

Nedley leans in, his voice dropping to a soft murmur only Nicole can hear. “Everyone knows that Barbara Dray is a little left of center,” he says. “But you take her seriously.” He shakes his head. “And that  _ matters _ . Being Sheriff is about making people feel like they  _ matter _ . And you have a way of doing that, with even the most ornery of people.”

“Sir,” Nicole starts.

Nedley straightens up, clearing his throat. “Well. Radio for Conlin to send Valdez over here. I’m going to put Mr. Gardner here in my Bronco and take him down to the station.” He rolls his eyes. “That’ll be a fun call to make.”

Nicole shudders at the thought of having to sit in the backseat of Nedley’s 1988 red and tan Ford Bronco. 

Tucker looks back over his shoulder at Nedley and Nicole. “My father will-”

“Blow a gasket when he finds out that a  _ Gardner _ is stealing petty cash at a  _ Fair _ ,” Nedley finishes, a hard edge to his voice. “I would think so.” 

Nicole takes a deep breath as Nedley leads Tucker through the crowds, towards the parking lot. 

“Waverly and Styx and  _ Due South _ and  _ Rolling Stone _ ,” she whispers to herself.  

She puts the metal money box just inside of Stan’s cart and pauses, looking for him. She finds Stan, crouching down next to him where he’s sitting in the grass. “How’s it look?” she asks Scoot Levin, one of Purgatory’s two EMTs. 

Drew Girard, the other EMT, tucks a wad of used gauze into a biohazard bag. “Small laceration. Superficial, really.”

Stan sighs. “I was so surprised to see that man back there that I just lost my footing, is all.” He swats Scoot’s hand away. “I’m alright, boys. Just let me stand up. We’re starting to draw a crowd.”

Nicole stands, offering Stan a hand and pulling him to his feet. She pats his shoulder lightly. “Are you  _ sure _ you’re okay? Did they check for a concussion?”

“First thing we did,” Scoot says. He snaps his gloves around his wrist, peeling them back and folding them one inside the other. He tucks it into the biohazard bag. Drew closes it and double bags it before walking it back towards the ambulance, parked just outside of the food vendor area. 

Stan sways a little and Nicole steadies him. “I don’t know if you should go back to working right now,” she says, chewing on her bottom lip.

Stan shakes his head. “I’ve got to. Without that money, I haven’t made a profit today.”

Nicole nods at the cart. “Your money is right where it was before that man got his hands on it,” she promises. “You haven’t lost anything.”

Stan blinks up at her for a moment, his lips parting. “You really… you really caught the guy?”

Nicole smiles softly. “For sure.”

“And everything is-”

“Every last coin,” she promises.

Stan’s eyes start to water and he smiles widely. “Oh, Officer Haught. How-how can I repay you?”

Nicole shrugs a shoulder. “Take a break?” she asks hopefully.

Stan laughs, clutching his stomach before wincing and pressing his palm to his forehead. “How about you take that pretzel I tried to give you earlier?”

Nicole sighs heavily. “If you insist,” she says. “But only if you let me help you for a few minutes and you sit down? Eat something, maybe have some water?” 

She tries to think back to the time Wynonna tried to learn how to throw a baseball. Instead of aiming at Curtis, who had a catcher’s mask and a baseball glove on, Wynonna closed her eyes and heaved the ball. It hooked left and caught Nicole in the side of the head. She had fallen off the McCreadys’ steps and into the flowers, her head pounding and Waverly screaming in her ear. Curtis had picked her up out of the dirt, brushed her off, given her a water and a banana to eat, and twisted Wynonna in the opposite direction, telling her to try again.

Stan pretends to think it over for a minute, already sinking down onto the small stool inside his cart. Nicole fishes a water out of the cooler, cracks the top, and hands it to Stan. She picks a pretzel out of the Nemco and hands it to him, staring at him expectantly until he pointedly takes a bite from it. 

She unbuttons her sleeves, rolling them back slowly. She takes her hat off, dusting off the brim before placing it down gently next to the money box.

“Hi,” she says to the first person in line. “How many?”

“You sell pretzels now?” a voice asks.

Nicole looks up and around the girl at the counter. “Hey, baby, What’re you doing here?” She hands the girl a pretzel. “Thanks,” she says, taking her money and dumping it into the metal box.

Waverly shrugs, coming closer. “I was with Wynonna and Rosita at the garage. Scoot and Drew were looking over Scoot’s Acura, the one that makes-”

“The boom noise every time he turns it on,” Nicole finishes, wincing when she remembers hearing it for the first time and thinking she was being fired on. 

Waverly nods. “They got a call from Dispatch saying that Officer Haught was requesting a medic. I came to see what all the fuss was about.” She kicks at the dirt under her foot. “Make sure it wasn’t you.”

Nicole leans forward on her elbow, her chin in her hand. “I’m aces, baby.”

Stan leans forward on his stool. “It was me, Ms. Waverly,” he says, his shoulders slumping. “I just took a tumble, that’s all.” He stands up, nodding sharply at Nicole. “I’m all set now, Officer Haught. I appreciate you helping me out. And getting my money back.”

Nicole picks up her hat and places it back on her head, tipping it at Stan. “You sure, Stan?”

Stan is already nodding, shooing her away. Nicole steps out of the cart, coming around to the other side of the counter.

‘I’m fine,” he promises. “But don’t forget your pretzel.” He reaches into the warmer and grabs a pretzel, thrusting it at her.

Nicole takes it, ripping it in half and giving Waverly the other piece. “I’ll be back in a little bit, to check up on you,” she vows.

Stan nods seriously. “I’ll be right here.”

“Upright,” she says firmly.

“Upright,” Stan agrees.

Nicole stares at him for a minute longer before she decides that she’ll believe him. She nods towards the other vendors and Waverly follows her lead, slipping into the stream of the crowd. Her hand brushes against Nicole’s.

“Did you catch the guy?” Waverly asks.

Nicole grins. “I did.”

Waverly looks up at her, her hand more purposeful as it moves against Nicole’s. Her fingertips press into Nicole’s forearm. “And you’re okay?”

Nicole takes a deep breath. “I got rid of Champ Hardy, tackled Tucker Gardner,  _ and _ got a free pretzel. It’s, like, the  _ best _ day ever,” she whispers.

Waverly steps a little closer. “Just wait until I read you that  _ Rolling Stone _ article. I peeked,” she admits, her eyes sparkling like she’s not sorry at all. “It’s  _ good _ .”

Nicole feels a slow bloom of something warm in her chest, spreading through her body until the tips of her fingers ache with the need to touch Waverly. She clenches her hand into a fist, squeezing tightly. As soon as she gets home, she’ll pull Waverly close and sit down on the couch, and let her body move to fit the shape of Waverly’s. But for now, she settles on reaching for her hand, looping her fingers around Waverly’s wrist.

She opens her mouth to say something, but looks up over Waverly’s shoulder and nods at Valdez, coming through the crowd towards her. “Here comes Valdez,” she murmurs, squeezing Waverly’s wrist gently. “I’ve got to work, okay?”

Waverly smiles widely at her, her hand brushing Nicole’s waist as she takes a few steps back. “Of course.” She gestures to Nicole’s face. “Can I just…” Her voice trails off as takes a tentative step back in, hands fluttering nervously.

Nicole fights a smile as she figures out what Waverly is asking. She takes a deep breath. “I suppose,” she drags out.

Waverly huffs. “Well, if you don’t-”

Nicole grabs for Waverly’s wrist, pulling her the last few inches closer. Waverly’s free hand goes to her shoulder, steadying herself as she pushes onto her toes. Her lips brush against Nicole’s cheek lightly.

“Ms. Earp and Officer Haught, sitting in a tree,” someone sings behind her.

Waverly laughs and buries her face in Nicole’s arm for a second before putting on her best ‘teacher-face’ and turning around. “Now hold on a minute, Albert Richard,” she starts. “I want you to tell me how the rest of that song goes.”

Nicole stands back and watches Waverly chase off a few high school boys, then stop and talk to a few girls Nicole recognizes from The Patch. 

Al Richard throws his arm across one of the girl’s shoulders, grinning. “Ms. Earp and Officer Haught, sitting in a tree,” he starts again. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love,” he sings loudly, spinning around in a circle. “Then comes-” He stops abruptly, his whole body stilling as Nicole steps closer.

Nicole grins down at him. He swallows heavily, backing up from where he nearly ran into her.

“Then comes marriage,” he says meekly.

Waverly sighs and rolls her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her lip. 

“Someday,” Nicole says, eyes on Waverly, something fluttering in her chest. “Someday.”


End file.
